


Castaway

by AzureTiger



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Everyone Has Issues, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureTiger/pseuds/AzureTiger
Summary: Fury must be out of his mind to send Tony and Steve together on a mission where spies would surely be better suited to the job. But here they are, stuck on an island together, running an op.It's hard to say what might kill him first, Steve annoying the hell out of him, or the disaster that's bound to happen when you throw two clashing personalities and practical strangers into a dangerous mission.But that's the best way to make friendships, isn't it? When your lives are on the line, and all you have is each other? Sometimes your best resource is the good company, and the inspirational posters are right: it really is about the journey.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 29
Kudos: 199





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there! If you're a reader of my previous work, I promise more Thundershield to come! I have three separate ideas, two of which I've hesitantly begun writing. But for now? A short break, and a taste of something else.
> 
> Tony is such a fun character to write, and I just had to have a crack at some Stony. I don't normally write in the present tense, but it feels more personal, and seemed a better fit for this tale. Let's see where this goes! Enjoy, and as always, feels free to let me know what you think! Even if you hate it. I won't be offended, I promise. I value all feedback, and your opinions will always be respected (so long as you're not outright nasty). So let me know what you think! I appreciate the feedback <3
> 
> There will be lots of fighting, and male bonding. Enjoy!

Apparently the past doesn’t just bite you in the ass: it follows you around like the plague, a disease that eats you slowly from the inside, manifesting a new symptom just when you think you’ve purged the last of it. There is no cure, no medicine, no way of telling when this terrible disease will remind you that it’s there, and no way to tell if it’s gone. 

He’s sitting in his lab, as usual, working on his latest Iron Man upgrade. Having the suit fly to him and assemble around his body is a pretty badass idea. Credit where credit is due. 

This is not going as smoothly as he’d like. Tony drops his wrench and wipes grease from his fingers, reaching instead for the screwdriver and cradling the suit component in his palm as he slides the instrument through the cracks to adjust the motion sensors and trackers newly imbedded in the hardware. Next, he’ll tweak the coding, and give this baby another whirl. 

“Sir, Director Fury is calling,” JARVIS pipes up, unapologetic as ever. 

Tony makes a point about groaning, even though the reaction he’ll get from the AI is less than satisfactory. It’s more fun with Pepper. “What does he want.” 

“I cannot say,” JARVIS replies calmly. “But I suggest you answer it. His direct attempt to contact you can only signify urgency.” 

Fine. He will. “Put him through,” he sighs. 

“Stark.” Why does Fury always sound so accusing? And angry? _What’s in a name?_ "We’ve got something for you. SHIELD needs you on this.” 

“I told you, Cyclops, you can’t afford me,” Tony flashes a charming smile at the phone, even though he knows the director can’t see him. “I don’t work for you.” 

“No, you work for yourself, and this one is on your conscience. So I suggest you do yourself a favor and get your ass up here. Or I’ll come to you.” 

Tony would really rather Fury not pay him a visit, in his own home. “You’ve got yourself a date Prince Charming. Where’s the venue?” 

“Avengers’ Tower. You have until noon to get here.” There’s a click. 

“Or what, you’ll arrest me? Kinky,” Tony throws down his screwdriver and stands up, arching his back. He’s not in the mood, and was getting in the groove of things. But he packs up anyway, and goes to the clear space in the middle of the room. The trackers are already imbedded in his skin, so all he has to do is raise his arms and gesture with his hands. 

The suit is reluctant to respond, and even more so to obey. But it flies at him eventually, the parts whizzing around the room and smacking into his body fast enough to knock him over. Before he can open his mouth to give the command to slow this show down, the arrival of the breastplate smacks the wind and words from his chest. JARVIS intercepts, but not before a couple more pieces fly into Tony. 

It actually works. He straightens and laughs, in slightly better spirits. “Should I bring flowers?” 

“Bring your best behavior, perhaps.” 

“Such a flirt,” Tony grins, and jets up into the air through the hatch. 

He likes flying, he really does. There’s a certain thrill that comes with speed. It’s more personal this way too, tucked into this suit. Better than in a car. He feels safe in here. It’s his protective shell, a symbol of everything he’s tried to do better since 2008. It’s something tangible he can lock onto, a meter of his progress that can be tracked. And plus, it hides his face. If he doesn’t want the world to know how he’s feeling, they don’t have to. All he has to do is drop the mask, and all they can see is Iron Man, the hero that saved New York from aliens. 

The Big Apple is right ahead. Already he can spot the shape of Avengers’ Tower as he weaves through the sky. He’s not an Avenger anymore; the team disbanded, separating those deadly chemicals Banner had described them as. It was probably for the better. Even with catastrophic events to bring them together and forge friendships, things had been bound to go off at some point. Fury must have known that, regardless of his vision to have them unite in the first place. He’s a smart guy, that Tony is sure of. 

Tony lands outside, on the redesigned pad. The doors open and he walks into the lounge, stepping out of the suit as it peels away and stands sentry. 

“Welcome back, sir,” JARVIS greets. It’s been a while since Tony’s visited. Sometimes he comes up here, usually to hang out with Bruce in the lab. The tower would make a good base of operation, though he hopes there’s never a reason for the Avengers to reassemble. 

“I’m surprised you showed,” Fury is already there, a drink in his hand, leaning on the bar. Beside him, dressed in his blue stealth uniform, hands clasping his belt and his expression just as serious as always, is Steve Rogers. 

Captain America’s shield is resting on the floor against the bar, perfectly shiny and smooth, just like its owner. Steve’s pale skin and golden hair glow in the daylight streaming through the windows, blue eyes fixing on Tony intently. 

“Vodka? Before lunch? I underestimated you,” Tony ignores America’s boy scout and walks over. “Maybe we could get along after all.” 

“This is water,” Fury’s eyebrow leaps. “Gotta keep hydrated in this heat.” 

“Yeah, you do lose a lot of water through your head,” Tony tucks his hands in his pockets, finally affording the Captain a glance. “’sup Spangles.” 

Steve doesn’t budge, business as usual. He seems very guarded, more-so even than when they’d first met. The scepter had inseminated all of them with a certain amount of hostility, helping them judge and jump to conclusions and ultimately make a Hell of a mess (correction: _Hulk_ of a mess), but in the end Steve had loosened up, showing there was more to him than following the rules. Right now, in his SHIELD-issued uniform, Steve looks like he carries a little notebook full of rules in his utility belt. 

“SHIELD has intel that someone is building weapons on a remote island, and selling them on the black market,” Steve jumps to the point, which Tony appreciates. “We’ve been tracking down buyers and working our way back to the dealers.” 

“Sounds like SHIELD’s business to me,” Tony saunters around the bar. Steve’s voice makes him want to put his head through a window, though Loki’s already thrown him through these, so he doesn’t fancy breaking them again. He’s a reformed alcoholic, but he can’t possibly deal with these two unless he’s got a few units in him. That, or they pull the sticks out their asses, and he knows that won’t happen. 

Fury watches as the inventor takes the top off a bottle of whiskey and tosses a cup in his hand, catching it the right way and starting to pour. The second the bottle is back on the shelf and he’s about to take a sip, Steve’s huge frame is easily reaching across the counter and plucking the drink from his hand. “It is,” the soldier agrees, “but these are your weapons being built.” 

“Someone got old blueprints off the internet, or the black market, or _somewhere_ ,” Fury explains. “Inside info reports that their security measures are too advanced for our tech experts to crack. So yes, it _is_ your business.” He takes a sip of water. 

Tony looks between them. “I’m flattered you think so highly of my hacking abilities, even if it’s in comparison to yours, but can’t you just bomb the place?” 

“We have no idea how much firepower they have,” Fury disagrees before a deeply-frowning Steve can protest. “There’s a good chance they have nukes stored at the facility. We need to take this down more discretely, sneak in and shut down their operations.” 

“Don’t know if you noticed, or if that information was on your blind side while you were reading my file, but I’m not a spy, or a trained mercenary, or even a soldier,” Tony explains, though somehow he doesn’t think he can talk his way out of this one. 

“That’s why you’re going with him,” Fury gestures to Steve with his thumb, and Tony has to say the Captain doesn’t look pleased about this either. 

“You want me and Big Blue running an op together,” the engineer can hardly believe it. Surely Fury isn’t this dumb. Or maybe he wants to get rid of both of them at once, because surely this can only end in disaster. 

“Yes, I do. Now suit up. We’ll brief you on the helicopter.” Fury empties his water glass and sets it down, turning on his heel in a swirl of black. 

“At least let me have my drink,” Tony reaches his fingers for the glass he’s already poured, desperate for something to take the edge off if he has to spend the next however-long with Captain Scowl-Face. 

Steve pulls the glass further out of reach. “No drinking on the job. Let’s go.” 

“It’ll go to waste,” he argues. 

So Steve drinks it, tips the alcohol into his mouth without missing a beat, and sets down the empty glass. “Time to go.” 

_Sacrilege!_ That was... that was a beautiful spiced whiskey, imported... And he just... _Bastard won’t even appreciate the buzz. Or the flavor. What a waste._ Still, he has to appreciate the balls. 

But that’s it. He won’t appreciate anything else as he follows Steve out onto the helipad. This suit does the good Captain much better justice than the crap he wore just a year-and-a-half ago against the Chitauri. Still, Tony knows he can do better. He waits to appraise Steve from top to bottom until the faceplate is secured and he’s safe to let his eyes roam where he wants. Sure, Steve may be a square, but he’s a hot piece of ass, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. _Yeah, but it’s all steroids._ Tony’s ass is all his. 

The suit. He’s trying to look at the suit. He knows that with a few tweaks he can improve the design, strengthen a few areas while easing back on others. The way Rogers moves suggests it’s stiff in the shoulders. Tony could fix that. He could probably improve the polymer, too. Make the fabric more agreeable. Improve how it slips on and off. _I’ll propose it, as a peace offering, if things get out of hand._ They likely will. How soon? That depends on how annoying Steve is. 

\-- 

He doesn’t ride in the helicopter, instead opting to fly ahead. He lands at the SHIELD base and walks right in, leaning on the big eagle metalwork in the lobby while he waits. People stare as they walk by, but he ignored them, tapping a metal finger on his hip as he waits for his cohorts to catch up. 

They do, finally, striding right past and leading the way up to a meeting room. Tony leaves the armor in the corner, Steve sets his shield against the opposite wall. Everyone gathers around the table, the two Avengers, plus Fury and a handful of SHIELD operatives, and the brief begins. 

It’s horrendously boring. Tony really wishes he could have a drink right now. He wishes Steve wouldn’t sit so tightly upright in his chair, memorizing every detail perfectly like he always does, with his perfect hair, and his perfect face. _Bastard._

“It’s too dangerous to send you two in with your usual uniforms,” Fury is explaining. “We’ll get both of you something stealthier.” 

Oh no, he’s not leaving his suit behind. “Iron Man’s coming with me, sorry Jolly Roger.” There’s room to negotiate this, he knows it. SHIELD wouldn’t drag him into this unless they had to. They need him, and he can get what he wants. 

“No.” Fury is firm. “Too shiny, and too obvious. If they realize the Avengers are onto them, it could shut down the whole circle and we’ll lose our leads.” 

“And sending Tony Stark himself isn’t shiny and obvious?” he leans back in his chair. 

“With luck, they won’t be seeing your face,” the director reaffirms. 

_The suit’s coming._ No doubt about it. Tony just smiles. He’s not walking into a mission without it. Unlike Steve, he’s not bullet-proof. He doesn’t have any magic healing potion. _God, I wish._ Once again, he’s finding a hard time summing up Steve in any one word apart from ‘bastard’. 

It’s time to go. He and Rogers are both given a bag of clothes and told to change. Tony slips into the empty office across the hall and opens the bag. He finds black, a lot of it. Which is fine. He can work black, just like he can work a lot of things. The style though...? Not his first pick. But he dresses, taking off his t-shirt and jeans and tossing them into the bag. Then he pulls on the reinforced cargo pants in very dark army green. They’ve got knee pads on them, clearly designed for combat. 

Next is a black shirt, and it’s very snug, hugging his toned body. Over top goes a bullet-proof vest, and he’s flattered that Fury thinks him so valuable. _It won’t fit too well under the suit..._ He can ditch the vest the second they land, and Steve can’t protest once they’re there. No, they’ll be stuck by then, for the next few days. 

To his surprise, there’s a gun in here, and extra magazines. Tony hesitantly pulls the weapon from the bag and straps it to his waist. It’s reassuring to know SHIELD doesn’t expect him to go unarmed (though he suspects ‘arming’ him is meant to mostly mean pairing him with Steve), but he hopes this mission doesn’t end in a firefight. 

Once his heavy combat boots are laced, he’s dressed. The clothes are surprisingly comfortable. He pulls on some combat gloves, zips his previous outfit into the bag, and walks out. 

Steve is already dressed, his huge frame packed into an identical outfit. The curves of his arms are on full display, barely contained in the short sleeves of his shirt. Without his uniform and shield, he looks less gimmicky. Scarier. There’s no star, not red white and blue (though SHIELD had skimped on those first two), and no shield. He’s armed too, and probably a lot more than Tony is. 

Fury is waiting, appraising the two of them with satisfaction and something edging toward malevolence, as if this is all some evil plan. Tony wouldn’t be surprised. It’s not the first time the director has been hiding other operations. Tony can’t bring himself to care though, not for this. He knows he’s reading into this because he’s bitter. 

“Everything you asked for is in these,” Fury explains, and two other agents step forward, producing a bag each and handing them over. The larger one goes to Steve, and he shoulders the weight effortlessly. “You’ll find basic tools and some electronic equipment,” he explains to Tony. “We’ve also given you enough supplies to last you a couple of days. That includes a tent, food, water, fire-starting supplies, blankets, and first-aid. There are distress beacons in your left breast pockets. If things go to shit, you can call for an extraction as a last resort. We’ll be thirty minutes out from your location.” 

Steve is nodding affirmatively, ready to go. His whole body is buzzing, ready for a fight. That’s what it’s made for, Tony supposes. Fighting, moving, working. Just like the engineer is, but in a different way. Tony is wired to fix and build, and Steve is wired to punch things. 

“Everybody move out,” Fury orders, and starts to lead the way to the hangar. Tony flicks his wrist, and Iron Man strides along behind them. It gives him great pleasure when he spots the apprehensive faces of the agents escorting them. This whole mission may be worth it just for that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what you think :)

Steve knows that Natasha probably could have done this alone with a bottle opener and some scotch tape. She’s a spy. He is not. Sneaking around gathering intel is not one of his strong suits, and though he’s not exactly a show-boat, running in and blowing everything up is much more to his strengths. He won’t tell that to Tony. 

Tony isn’t a spy either. He’s not even a trained operative. Why Fury wants him to come is still a bit of mystery; Steve doesn’t think Stark’s skillset is the only reason he’s being thrown into this. It might not even be the main reason. Things never are as they seem with Fury. 

Steve can think about these issues once the job is done; who knows, maybe somewhere along the road he’ll figure it out, and everything will make sense. Maybe he’ll even agree with the director’s motives. Or maybe he won’t. That’s a fairly large possibility. Steve isn’t the government’s lap dog, contrary to what some might believe. 

“So, marched right on back to the big boss, huh?” Tony is goading him, though it doesn’t seem like he can help himself. They’re in the jet now, flying low over the water and approaching the island. It’s dark out, and the two of them are dressed in waterproof coveralls. 

Steve doesn’t answer, casting the inventor a glance before going right back to staring at the hatch. He knows he should make an effort to at least be amicable, but he has no clue where to start. It’s barely been hours since the mission kicked off, and he’s already struggling. 

Tony doesn’t seem to mind, carrying on. “Reverted to the state. But what do I know. Maybe you sold them your soul already and you don’t have a choice.” 

Steve deliberately ignores him. The guy’s actually right: nothing is official, but he did technically sell himself to his country the second he joined the super soldier program. This is all he has, all that’s left. Without Fury, without SHIELD, he has nothing, just a body to live in and no soul to fill it. That’s how it feels anyway, but he can never say that because it’ll sound stupid if it leaves his lips. Maybe it doesn’t have to be this way, maybe he could have said no to Fury’s recruitment, but he hates sitting alone in an empty apartment more than anything. When he picks up his shield, he can taste the memory of who he used to be. Fighting feels good: it’s what his body is made to do, and he’s good at it. He likes being able to save people, protect them, do what he’s always wanted. 

Steve just wishes he could feel it. He likes his team, likes working with Barton and Romanoff, but it’s not the same. He’s lonely, and he doesn’t know how to go out and fix that. Part of him knows he’s afraid to try, and even more afraid to succeed. You can’t lose what you don’t have. 

“Entering drop zone,” the pilot announces, and Steve does a double-check of his gear. All set. He glances to Tony, but another agent is already making sure the inventor is ready. 

The ramp lowers, and Steve hops out, angling his body swiftly. The drop is short, and in seconds he’s plunging into the water. Another few heartbeats, and there’s a second splash. Steve swears he hears a third, but he can’t be sure. 

The jet disappears, and Steve closes the distance between himself and Tony in two powerful strokes. Then he wraps his arm around the engineer and starts swimming for the shore. It’s about ten minutes’ swimming distance, for him at least. To his relief, the other man goes quiet, perfectly still in Steve’s grip as he allows himself to be dragged along at a pace that would put Olympic medalists to shame. 

Steve stands up the second he can touch the bottom, Tony still tucked under his arm. He sets him down once they’re out of the water and walks up the sand to the rocks. He can hear the engineer on his tail, carefully picking his way across the terrain but keeping pace. Steve has to remind himself not to go too fast: Tony is a fit guy, but he’s still not a spy, or a super-soldier. 

“We’ll find shelter and set up base,” Steve finally says once the rocks are behind them and the forest swallows them. He can see quite well despite the lack of light, so he knows that this dense forest they’re about to plunge into will be full of good places to build a camp. If the facility they’re scouting is at twelve o’clock, then the jet dropped them off at almost six. It’ll be a bit of a trek, but it’s safer to have their camp far away just in case. 

Tony pulls out a flashlight, but Steve shakes his head. “Just follow me,” he orders. “They might send out night patrols. I can see fine.” 

“I’m not holding your hand,” Stark protests, as if it’s been insisted he does. 

“I didn’t ask you to. Just follow.” Steve starts to walk, making sure to watch the ground for debris as he picks his way through. He holds aside branches and guides both of them around fallen logs and brambles. 

It’s a nice evening, he has to say. The air is cool but refreshing. It’s quiet, far away from the city and civilization in general. Steve tries not to get lost in how relieving this is for his sensitive ears. There are no cars beeping, no grumbling engines, no thick street chatter. Just a few birds and the rustle of leaves. He can taste the ocean, crisp and fresh on his tongue. It’s rained recently, he can taste that too, and it cleanses his sinuses of city smog. 

The ground sharply leans upward, and they’ve reached a cliff. Steve looks up through the thick foliage, and he can’t see the top. He peers down at his feet, and the ground is a bit rougher, the dirt littered with rocks and pebbles. 

“If you think we’re climbing that, you’re out of your mind,” Tony stops at his side and looks up too. 

“We aren’t” Steve assures. He’s got a better idea: look for shelter. Where there’s a cliff, there are rocks, which means there might be a cave somewhere. SHIELD scans have shown there are likely to be caves around these mountains, especially with the rivers and streams cutting down from the top. There’s plenty of room for water to flow through and erode away a little shelter. Tony follows obediently as Steve wanders along the cliffside, brushing away foliage. Even if they can’t find a cave that two people can comfortably fit inside, it would be quite easy to make a shelter between the almost-vertical incline and some trees. 

Luck favors them: Steve _does_ find a cave, and it’s on their level, no climbing needed to reach it. There are some thick bushes obscuring it, and the entrance is narrow, but he can squeeze his shoulders through. He turns once he’s inside, and Tony is frozen in place, a distant look in his eyes as he stares with horror at the entrance. 

“I can have a look around first,” Steve offers. It _is_ quite dark, and it would be wise to make sure no other creatures have made their home in here. He’s not the mood for bear-wrestling. 

Tony swallows and doesn’t answer for a minute or two. His expression makes Steve wonder if maybe the inventor has forgotten how well the soldier can see in this low light. He can see just how much dread has crossed his companion’s face. 

“We can turn the lights on in there, and it won’t be so dark,” Steve reassures, finding it impossible to keep up the stern distance he’s been so diligently cultivating. Lots of people are afraid of the dark, and he won’t hold it against anyone not to feel comfortable in it. Steve himself isn’t fond of it, but with some lights on it’ll be a nice shelter. 

Tony’s face is glistening with sweat, and he licks his lips nervously. “I-I don’t think you’ll fit in there. Your uh, shoulders. You’re huge. Don’t know if you forgot that Spangles. Don’t fancy being scrunched up in there with you. Looks a bit, uh, unstable. I mean... lots of crumbled rocks, and stuff.” 

There’s plenty of space for the two of them in here. Steve can stand up straight inside, and there’s plenty of room to stretch his arms out and spin in circles if he wanted to. He spots the rocks on the forest floor and knows they’ve come from higher up the cliff, but he doesn’t press, and he doesn’t argue. Tony seems surprised by that as Steve simply steps out of the cave and continues to walk along the cliffside without further comment on the subject. It’s not his place to pry, and he’s smart enough to tell that his companion isn’t fond of caves for whatever reason. If this were a freezer or an ice bath, Steve would be the hesitant one. Tony might not be his bestest friend, maybe not his friend at all, but Steve’s not a dick. 

So they walk, and Steve starts to wonder if he prefers this silence over constant chatter. The atmosphere is tense as a horror film (not that he’s seen many). 

Finally he finds a place to build camp. Tony happily falls into step, shedding his waterproof jumpsuit and backpack of supplies to help erect the shelter. He clears the ground with his boot and lays out the thermal cover. Steve throws the camo tarp over a high branch and secures the holes into the cold earth with pegs and his bare fist. It only takes one hearty smack each to get them into the ground, and soon the shelter is drawn over them, the cliff to one side, and a large tree to the other. Steve hangs their bags from lower branches, unzipping his larger one to retrieve thermal blankets and some food. He rolls out his mat and sits down, loosening his bullet-proof vest and reaching for his food. 

Tony’s turned on the little lamp and hung it from a branch. He sits down too, staring at his boots. 

Guilt eats up enough of the brick in Steve’s throat to allow him to speak. “What do you know about this facility.” Work is always a good conversation-starter, safe and ultimately necessary. 

Tony scratches his face aimlessly, wrapping his blanket around himself and shifting his posture. He frowns and looks up in the low light. They make eye contact, and it holds. Instantly, the inventor seems more relaxed, entering his zone of expertise. “That I can get in,” he explains confidently. “Whatever security measures they have, they’ll be no match for JARVIS. I’ll be in and out no problem.” He reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out a small device that looks a bit like a computer chip to Steve. 

Steve frowns at it sternly, then frowns at Tony. He should have foreseen this. “Fury told you not to bring any tech. If we’re compromised it could be traced back to us, and to SHIELD.” 

Tony rolls his eyes and tucks the item away again, waving his hand dismissively. “If ol’ eye-patch expects me to break into a high-level security system with a handful of screwdrivers, he’s out of his mind. Which I could do, by the way, don’t get me wrong. I almost want to, just to prove it to him, but JARVIS could do it far more gracefully. That’s what you guys want, right? In an out without a trace? J’s pretty sneaky. Won’t take him long to smooth-talk his way through any shit those monkeys programmed.” 

Steve scowls deeper. “If something goes wrong, and they get their hands on that, you’ll have given SHIELD’s highest-priority criminals the most advanced AI in the world.” 

“Aw, is that a complement, Soldier?” Tony bats his eyes and grins. “If they get their hands on this, and try to use it, JARVIS will ruin their systems from the inside. You think my tech is that easily cracked? This thing is encrypted better than the pentagon. Which I have hacked for fun, by the way.” 

Steve isn’t sure if that’s true, and he’s torn between annoyed and impressed that he knows it’s entirely possible. It’s not Tony’s eagerness to show off that annoys him, it’s the flippancy with which safety measures of this operation are being so casually disregarded that’s riling him up. He holds his expression firm. “What else did you bring.” 

Tony winces, but underneath Steve can tell the inventor doesn’t regret whatever choice he’s made. 

“Tony. What did you bring.” He uses his Captain’s voice, and it’s very effective. Always has been, since the moment he realized he had it. It’s worked on generals, Nazis, friends, and it’ll work on one flippant genius billionaire. 

“I uh... I brought... back-up.” 

“You brought Iron Man.” Steve can’t believe it. The chip is one thing, something he actually agrees is a good idea and will make breaking in a lot daintier, and a lot faster. But Iron Man? A whole suit of armor capable of launching rockets and small missiles? Something the government has tried to take ownership of for being too dangerous? Something that’s so shiny and colorful and recognizable? _That_ he can’t let slip. His anger shows plain as day on his face, and Tony actually shrinks a little. 

But the inventor recovers fast, and brushes it off. “Look, if we do end up in a firefight, wouldn’t you rather have some protection? You don’t have your shield, but you’re clearly here to be mine. Hate to break it to ya Spangles, but Fury only wants you for your body. Or, SHIELD does at least.” He puts up his hands. 

Steve can’t argue with that. He knows that despite what the serum has done for his mind, SHIELD wants his body more. He’s a machine, capable of tearing down enemies on his own. He’s reusable, capable of regenerating so quickly and from even the most horrific wounds that his new employer simply throws him into any situation too dangerous for another man to undertake. Tony’s the brains here, he knows it. Knew the second Fury announced this partnership. He’s the bodyguard, the meat suit intended to get Tony wherever he needs to be so the genius can get the information they need about the base to map out its destruction. Then, when they have that, they’ll send him right back in to finish it off. 

He can’t wipe the scowl off his expression, though the realization of truth is bleeding through. But Steve simply pushes out his jaw. “I know,” he agrees lowly. “That’s the best way. It’s what the serum’s for.” 

Tony looks like he has more words, but he holds them back. They sit in silence for a few more moments before Steve finally asks. Well, it’s more of a demand than a question. 

“Where is it.” 

“Bottom of the ocean, about five-hundred meters off the coast,” Tony explains, “ready to fly to me when I call.” 

“You won’t call it,” Steve orders. “We can’t risk it.” 

“And if we can?” 

“Tony, _no,_ " Steve insists even more firmly. “We can’t risk it. If we do this right, they won’t see your face or ever find out you were involved. My face isn’t so recognizable , so if we get caught I’ll find some way to get you out of here. There’ll be no need for Iron Man.” Steve could last through whatever fate would befall him if he were caught, and Tony could get help. There would be no need to expose the well-known inventor, nor SHIELD, nor the Avengers’ involvement. _But it won’t come to that._

“Come on Steve, you can’t be that stupid-” 

“Those are the orders,” Steve tightens his stance on the issue. “And it won’t come to that.” 

“You’d be the first to say ‘be prepared’-” 

“Bringing Iron Man is more likely to cause a gunfight in the first place!” the soldier feels like tearing his hair out. “Stealth is key here! Unless you forgot, I left my big, colorful, identifiable shield behind.” He does miss it, that’s for certain. He feels naked and exposed without it. The object is extremely useful, and it’s saved his life plenty of times. 

“Fine, have it your way, sourpuss,” Tony agrees, “it’ll stay with the fish.” 

There’s little chance of that, but Steve knows that from this point onward, Tony will do what he wants no matter how much they argue. This mission is testing his nerves more and more, and they haven’t even started it yet. “I’ll take first watch,” he growls, standing up and pushing the tarp flap aside. He brings his blanket with him and secures the tarp corner with a rock, sitting down in the dirt where he can see the forest best. Tony doesn’t protest or follow. He simply turns out the light. Steve hears him shuffle around a little as he gets tucked into bed. 

Then, the night is still. A few minutes later, Tony is breathing deeply, snoring a little. Steve sighs and releases the tension in his shoulders, wrapping the blanket around himself. He gets comfortable, but not too much so, and finds that place inside him the serum allows him to reach, where his body can remain completely still and his senses are locked on the environment. He’ll sit here until sunrise, and nothing will escape his eyes or his ears. They’ll be safe. 

\-- 

The sun rises, and Steve stands up. He folds up his blanket and makes sure all his weapons are holstered. Guns and knives aren’t really his style, or his preference, but there was no chance of bringing his shield, and he needs to be armed in some way. 

Once it’s bright enough, and the last few stars are chased away, Steve goes back inside the tent. The sooner they leave, the better. They have a lot of ground to cover. “Tony,” he announces, nudging the man sprawled under the blanket. “Up.” He’s not sure how he’s supposed to wake up a man he doesn’t know very well. Should he kick him? Shake him? Or just stand over him and say his name until he gets up? 

Surprisingly, Tony doesn’t take much to rouse. He groans and rubs his eyes, and the journey of realization is clear in his eyes as he remembers he’s not at home in a warm, plush bed surrounded by expensive sheets. Nope, he’s in a forest, in a tent. The inventor scowls and props himself up on one arm, his hair a mess. He licks his lips. “What time is it, Soldier?” 

“Late enough that we need to get going.” Steve knows he could have roused Tony a lot earlier, but he also knows the older man needs more rest than he does. But they really do _have_ to get moving now. “Suit up.” 

Tony’s face curls into a naughty grin. 

“Not _that_ suit,” Steve scowls. “I’ll wait outside.” 

The billionaire doesn’t take long to get ready. When he emerges, there’s food in his hand, and he’s run his fingers through his hair to tame it somewhat. Steve’s pretty sure it’s usually got product in it, but even natural as it is now it’s still somehow perfectly messy. Scruffy. Whatever look Tony is going for is very successful. He’s a handsome guy, even removed from his natural habitat. He owns the cards dealt to him, always ready to make an impression and the game. 

Tony hands him a piece of multigrain bread and a banana, and Steve takes them in grateful and mildly-surprised silence. He’s supposed to be the professional here, but the inventor is the one reaching out the olive branch. “You stay up all night? I thought we were going to take turns.” 

“Didn’t need the sleep,” Steve shrugs and accepts the food with a nod. “You need it more.” 

“So what, you’re gonna be taking all the watches for however long we’re stuck on this god-forsaken island?” Tony peels his own banana. 

“If I have to. I can see and hear better than you can. And you can’t sit there with the flashlight in your hand.” 

“So you aren’t going to sleep at all. For... how many days do you think we’ll be here? Two? Three?” 

Steve can start to feel his shoulders tensing up again. “I’ve done it before. The serum lets me get away with it.” He’ll pay for it once he lets it catch up to him, but he’ll be home by then. 

“Yeah, sure,” Tony takes a bite and chews. 

He doesn’t know anything about Steve, or his limits. _I’ll show you._ Steve eats his breakfast, then makes sure their shelter is properly hidden. He tucks the supplies they’ll need for recon into his vest, and Tony does the same. He takes his little screw drivers despite proclaiming so heartily that he won’t need them. A few minutes later, and they’re walking off in search of a way around the cliff. Climbing is out of the question, though Steve knows he could climb up without any problem. He just doesn’t like the idea of having Tony clung to his back and yammering in his ear the whole way up. 

As it turns out, they find a safer, more convenient way: the ground starts to rise, and finally there’s a gouge in the cliff full of jutting stones and roots that would make a good staircase. It’s quite steep, still, but there’s only two meters between the ground they’re currently on and the top of the cliff. Steve easily strides up, light on his feet. He does make a point of lingering on each step however, so Tony can follow his path safely. The Captain reaches the top and turns to watch, ready to reach out and help if he needs to. To his surprise, Tony is a lot more athletic than expected, and makes his way with admirable agility up the little path. 

The stone beneath his final step wobbles, and Tony loses his balance. Steve’s fast, whipping out his arm and catching the inventor by the front of his vest before he can fall. It wouldn’t have been far, but with all those rocks he’d have surely broken something. It was a close call. Steve’s hauling Tony up the rest of the way and setting him safely on his feet on flat dirt. They both stare at each other for a moment, Tony a little flushed and caught off guard. Steve’s not sure if it’s because he’s been man-handled, or because he nearly fell. 

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs and lets go. He turns around, setting the pace. 

Tony scampers to his side. They manage to match their strides despite their difference in leg length. 

The silence doesn’t last. “Why you givin’ me the cold shoulder? Did I do something terrible to you?” Tony asks, caught somewhere between disappointed and uncaring, like he can’t decide if he wants Steve’s approval simply because he doesn’t have it, or because he genuinely wants it. 

Instinctively, Steve wants to blurt out that he’s _not_ giving Tony the cold shoulder, he’s just not comfortable with this set-up, but he knows the inventor is right: he’s been less than friendly, and he could make more of an effort to get along. No conflict is one-sided, even if Tony is deliberately pushing his buttons. He doesn’t feel like himself, either. Steve isn’t sure what ‘himself’ feels like anymore. It’s tough to make friends when you don’t know who you are, or what you want. And Tony is tough to get a read on, even if the man can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. There’s a lot more to the inventor than meets the eye, something softer beneath the jovial and carefree playboy who thinks he owns the world. 

Steve can’t think of an answer, but that’s alright, because Tony continues. “We worked together pretty good way back when,” he strolls along like they’re headed to the park instead of a weapons manufacturing facility. “Kicked some alien ass. Good times. I figured I was wrong about you, that you weren’t just some jock in a flag-colored bodysuit. Suits you, I will say, but you’d look cuter if you pulled the stick out your ass. You’ve got one the size of the Statue of Liberty up there. Did then, still do.” 

There had been some swift and sure bonding after fighting off a world invasion, no doubt about that. Steve hadn’t felt so alive in a long time, gathered around a table eating shawarma with a group of people just as lost and different as him. But they’d all gone their separate ways immediately after, and that had been the end of that. A hint of friendship, a glimpse at a new family he could have made, with people carrying baggage just like him. The only people who came close to being able to relate to him. He hadn’t felt so alone, for just a day. 

Now it’s gone, with everyone going their separate ways. 

Steve sighs. “Yeah.” He can’t deny that. But this is all he can do to hold himself together, the only thing he has. Getting up and working for SHIELD is all he can do, and they expect Captain America, the straight-laced soldier, the man with a plan. Sure, he’s broken Fury’s rules; Steve’s by no-means a goody-two-shoes. Anything but. He’ll do what he thinks is right before what’s allowed. Always has. Maybe Tony doesn’t know he’s forged medical records and disobeyed orders by his superiors plenty of times. That was back in the war though, seventy years ago. The world feels so grey now, despite the constant bombardment of color and light from all directions. His eyes can see all of it now too, with more detail than any other human on Earth. But Brooklyn in the nineteen-thirties was still brighter and warmer to him, full of richer hues despite his eyes being so colorblind. 

At least out here, in this forest, he can hear himself think. Tony’s voice, surprisingly, is his guide among a swamp of ideas he’s not contemplated properly in a long time. Whether he’s not had the chance, or just ignored them, he’s not sure. It’s hard to tell these days. 

“You’re spacing out, big guy,” Tony turns around and walks backward, waving a hand in his face. “Wakey wakey.” 

Steve feels his entire body start to stiffen, really _feels_ it. But he resists, taking the effort to stay relaxed instead of closing in on himself. Tony’s right again, and though the inventor _is_ annoying, Steve can’t change anyone but himself. This mission will only get easier if he takes a look inside and does what he can from his end. “I’m just... I kinda miss my shield.” That’s the truth, and it’s all he can manage to put to words right now. Tony didn’t ask for a profile of his mental health, and he’s not the type to indulge so deeply either. 

“You’re all tense cus you miss your frisbee,” Tony smirks, not buying a word of it. “Yeah, right.” 

Steve’s about to bring up the fact that Tony brought _Iron Man,_ against strict orders not to, but then he remembers that he’s been terse since the beginning. “Just... focus on the mission, okay?” he lifts his hands pleadingly. Now’s not the time to be discussing his personal issues. 

“Will you at least smile for me?” Tony begs, turning back to face the right way, imploring with teasing hazel eyes. “This party’ll be more fun if we can be friends.” 

“It’s not a party,” Steve growls, and this time he really can’t help it. “We’re not here to have fun.” 

“I know that,” Tony’s joking tone finally cracks, and it feels like a petty victory to rouse that frustration. “I’m not a moron, and I’m not taking this lightly.” 

“Then stop joking around and disregarding rules!” Steve exclaims. “Fury told you to leave your tech behind for a _reason,_ and a good one. But you just _had_ to bring it along, because you’re so much smarter than everyone else, and you know best.” 

Tony stops in his tracks, and his eyes are dark when Steve turns to look at him. He points an accusing finger up at the larger man’s chest. “You know what? You’re a dick. I don’t get what my dad thought was worth wasting his life looking for. You don’t know shit about me, Rogers. I _made_ those weapons, designed them, and now some bad people have their hands on them, and it’s on my conscience. You know what it’s like to try and better yourself, and just when you think you’re finally covering some ground, shit like this happens? And then there are people like _you,_ who are revered by the mass public, looking down on me and seeing only what I was, and not what I tried to become. I’m not perfect, okay? Never have been, never will be. But at least I’m trying. You’re not giving me much to work with here, and I’m _trying.”_

Tony is wrong: Steve _does_ know what it feels like when people can’t see past something about you. For the inventor, that’s his brand, the market he used to be associated with. And for Steve, it’s his body. He’s always been objectified, even when he was small and weak and worthless. That’s all he’s ever been, either a sick, useless sack of bones, or big, powerful sack of muscle. 

Tony’s honesty and articulation shock and impress him, and he’s speechless as he regards the older man. They stare at each other for a few minutes, Tony simmering but recovering now that he’s said what he needs to, and Steve in sheer shock as he tries to decide how to respond. He’s in the wrong, and he’s man enough to admit that. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “Tony... you’re right. I’m sorry-” 

“Not your fault.” the inventor raises a hand and cuts him off. “Well, some of the fault’s yours, yeah. But some of it’s not. The world moved on without you. It changed and became something new. And from what I know, which isn’t everything, but it is a lot, you never got the chance to change too. You’re not the man you were, but the world wants you to be. So you’re trying, but you can’t, because that Steve can’t survive in this world, but it’s all you feel you’re allowed to be.” 

“How-” 

Again, Tony doesn’t let him finish, or even try to cobble together a sentence. “I pay attention. You might have that super steroid brain of yours, but I’ve got this all-natural Stark genius. I might be shit at friendships and all that, but I see stuff. Plus, you’re not as mysterious as you think you are.” 

“I’m not trying to be mysterious,” Steve frowns. 

“Good, cus you’re shit at it,” Tony smirks. 

To his surprise, some of the tension has bled away. It’s kind of miraculous, and Steve can’t fathom how it happened. Even the serum can’t help him piece that one together, why Tony’s blunt accusations have made him feel relaxed. 

“There it is,” the inventor boasts, looking terribly pleased with himself. “Knew I could do it.” 

Steve realizes he’s smiling. Having it pointed out only widens it, and he flushes a little as he fights to school his expression. 

“Naw, too late, I did it. Cracked the hard shell, and look what’s underneath. One big blonde marshmallow moron.” Tony smacks his bicep. “Come on cupcake, what’s the plan?” He’s grinning too. 

Steve’s not sure why, but he feels better. He turns his thoughts back to the mission and pulls out the map. “We’ll go to the rear entrance and wait for the guard rotation. You’ll get us through the door and get us into the building. From there, we’ll scope out the facility, figure out what they’re manufacturing. Once we have a comprehensive list of what they’re storing and making, we’ll go from there.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Tony agrees. “Do we get disguises?” 

“I’m sure we could find some uniforms hanging around that we could borrow,” Steve agrees. 

This might at least not be terrible. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated <3

Breaking in is child’s play. Steve can’t help but be impressed as he keeps an eye open, gun in-hand, and watches from the corner of his eye. Tony hacks his way into the facility like a locksmith with bathroom stall lock. Steve can’t begin to imagine what information is contained within that little chip, nor how JARVIS managed to disable the entire grid in such short time, but he’s glad.

Tony stands up with a sly flourish, gesturing to the door. “Age before beauty.”

Steve can’t even manage a frown at that particular joke. There’s no time anyway, because the next round of guards will be by soon. He quickly pressed his ear to the door and listens. Tony falls silent while his enhanced hearing reaches through.

What lies beyond this back entrance is safe, as far as he can tell. Steve keeps his gun raised and makes sure Tony is shielded by his body as he cracks the door open and peers inside. The hallway is empty, so he makes room for his companion, and they slip inside. Silently, he lets the door close behind them, and the lock clicks back into place. No alarms go off, no warning lights flash. All is quiet and undisturbed.

Steve beckons and starts down the hallway, gun held ready at his side as he pads soundlessly across polished floors. Immediately, he makes sure there are places to hide if someone comes around the corner, listening intently so they’ll have enough time to seek shelter if needed. He recalls the map Fury showed him, and starts to make his way toward what he presumes is the hangar where the weapons will be stored. They were each given a printed map of the facility, but it’s only a schematic of the layout, not a detailed analysis of what each room contains. Steve’s making educated guesses.

He can hear footsteps approaching from around the corner ahead, so he turns and grabs Tony swiftly, pulling him backward into the room beside them. He reaches up to wrap a hand around the inventor’s mouth just in case his brisk movements are startling, but Tony hasn’t made a peep, pressed tightly against his body. They’re crammed in a service closet, and Steve’s pretty sure he can see a fuse box in the wall. It’s locked, of course, but he could get it open with sheer force if needed. The information is drawn into his mental map for later, just in case.

The two men walk past. Steve can hear their footsteps getting closer and closer, until they’re moving past, small shadows flickering in the crack of light pushing under the door. They don’t slow down, unsuspecting, and continue walking in silence. By the little clicks audible with each step, Steve can make a good guess as to how heavily armed they are. ‘Very’, he would say.

The coast is clear. Steve loosens his grip, which he realizes is very tight around Tony’s mouth and chest. Just in case someone had burst in, and he had to use himself as a shield. He hasn’t meant to be quite that firm though. “Sorry...”

Tony doesn’t seem to mind. He smooths out his vest as they step back into the light, a little flushed at the rush of adrenaline, but perfectly composed as usual. 

Steve admires his level-headedness. “You good?” he asks, just to make sure.

Tony nods. Steve nods back, and takes the lead again. He affords himself an extra second or two to listen before rounding the corner. The coast is clear. He presses on, reading the labels on the doors as quickly as his eyes fall on them. They’re in German, which isn’t a good sign, but he can read them. After all this time working for SHIELD, he’s learned a few new languages. The second he recognizes that the words are in German, a shiver of memory traverses the length of his spine.

Tony is eagle-eyed, and Steve is a bad liar, so it should be no surprise that the inventor immediately notices the discomfort in the Captain’s posture. He frowns questioningly up, concerned.

Steve points at the words. “German,” he mouths. Maybe that’ll be enough for Tony to piece together why this isn’t sitting right with him. Bad people come from all over the world, and speak any conceivable language, but if the Germans are here making illegal weapons...? Well, it smells of a fish that’s been long-dead, that’s all. Then again, who’s to say there aren’t HYDRA-inspired organizations around? Lots of things about the future are different, but there are plenty of things that are exactly the same.

There’s an office up ahead, and people coming, this time from behind them. Steve checks the door and finds it locked. It needs a key, so JARVIS can’t help them. That’s fine: a locked door never stopped Captain America. A hand on his wrist stops him though, and he turns to see Tony, eyebrows raised, a little screwdriver in his hand. He pulls a couple of small pin-like objects and picks the lock in two seconds flat. They’re in, and once again, it’s incredibly delicate. Steve’s once again flabbergasted, though he really shouldn’t be. Why should he think that the peasantry of a simply tumbler lock would be a match for Tony’s higher-class brain? The man is an engineer, after all, and so much more. There are surely parts on Iron Man more finicky than a lock.

As the people approach, they hide under the desk with the lights off, and wait. Steve keeps the gun ready again, but whoever those people are pass right by the office, on their way somewhere else. Together, they emerge in the shadows to inspect what’s laid across the desk. The windows are small enough, the blinds drawn, that they can move around with some degree of freedom.

“Nice work,” Steve whispers.

Once again proud, and rightfully so, Tony puts his tools away. “You’re not the only circus freak here, Rogers. I didn’t pay my way through MIT you know.”

“I know,” Steve turns away and carefully inspects a stack of paperwork. This feels more natural that he ever expected it to, and that’s a little jarring. He tries not to think about it as he skims the pages in front of him.

“How fast can you read anyway?” Tony leans over to watch him flick through the papers.

“Fast,” Steve’s eyes dart left and right as he scans the words. There isn’t much of anything useful here, especially since whatever deal is being run here, they won’t want to keep paper records of it. Not many, anyway. Sometimes it’s better to print things out rather than leave them on a server that can be hacked remotely. Even with the tightest security, there are always mistakes, and always people like Tony. You just can’t hack paper, hence why some of these documents have been either hand-written, or typed on an old-fashioned type writer.

But there is also a computer. Manufacturing processes can’t operate without one these days. Tony’s powering up the desktop. The password bar pops up. Steve pauses reading to watch as the engineer gets into the computer by bringing up some command prompt with a keyboard shortcut and typing a couple lines of code. Instantly, they’re in. Neat and tidy, just as Fury wanted.

“J is already into the system,” Tony explains, continuing to type into the little black box floating in the middle of the screen. He’s typing out more lines of code, and Steve watches, fascinated. It’s beautiful and mesmerizing as the engineer bends the system to his will effortlessly. “I just need to tell him what I want him to do.”

He’s surprisingly unpatronizing about the whole thing. Steve puts down the paperwork so he can hover and watch, almost forgetting to keep one ear and one eye on the door. Tony works, explaining quietly as he goes. It’s like watching someone make a perfect sculpture of The David out of Jenga blocks.

“J is filtering and uploading all the data from their servers onto my private one right about.... now.” He hits enter, and the code runs. JARVIS gets to work, presumably. There’s no progress bar like there usually is when files are being transferred: JARVIS will work silently away in the background, unseen, unheard, like a parasite.

“What else can you find out?” Steve wants more. He wants to watch Tony pick apart this computer with just a keyboard, that black command box filling with white pixilated text, a satisfied, boyish grin on his lips, and the shimmer of enjoyment in his eyes.

“Anything you want, Captain,” Tony looks up, smiling slyly. “Your wish is my command. You seen Aladdin? Three wishes.”

They don’t have time to play around, but there are a few things Steve would like to know. “Can you find out what they’re building here?”

Tony gets typing, fingers flying across the keys as he seduces the software. It doesn’t take long before he’s called up a couple of other windows. He frowns and selects a folder from the list, opening it. Before them, are the schematics to what looks like a missile of some sort.

“Jericho...” Tony murmurs, and he’s lost his suave confidence to plunging reminiscence. This is a ghost of his past, one that Fury has guilted him into revisiting. Steve feels compelled to reach out a hand to touch a shoulder, or say a comforting word, but he doesn’t. He’s held back by apprehension, and perhaps fear, too. They don’t know each other that well, and maybe the gesture would be unwelcome.

There’s no time to contemplate his response, and no time to feel guilty for not acting on his craving to comfort his companion, because Tony is plowing on. He’s putting on a stern face and moving forward, closing the window and opening another file. There are more schematics, more weapons he recognizes and calls by name without reading the file label. It’s dizzying.

Both of them are equally stricken. Tony’s got a rumor about him for being just another disgustingly-rich asshole who doesn’t give a shit about anyone other than himself, but the dread in his expression conveys otherwise. Steve doesn’t believe those rumors. Actually, he’s pretty sure he trashed all chance of believing them when he and Tony had restarted that  helicarrier rotor together back in 2012.

“They’re making the deadliest ones,” Tony breathes, typing in more commands to bring up more windows. “Some of these were just...  _ concepts. _ I had some sketches for a few of these in my computer, before I.... before... Point is, we never made them. Never got farther than a few drawings. Don’t know how they got their hands on these. If this were a few years ago I’d be.... impressed. Annoyed, but impressed. I mean, I could make it better, but-”

“Tony, we’ll stop them,” Steve cuts in. “We’ll make sure they don’t launch a single one of these.”

“They’ve already sold a bunch of these to other parties,” Tony looks over, a mixture of angry and distraught.  _ Distraught. _ Lost, beaten. It’s a distressing look. Steve thinks back to their conversation in the forest only a few hours earlier.

“And we’ll stop them,” Steve promises. “This isn’t your fault, Tony.”

“Hell it is,” Tony growls, glaring at the computer and smacking the keys a little harder. “I made those.”

“You  _ stopped _ making them,” Steve corrects. “Even the most well-meaning people can have their ideas manipulated and used for evil. This is no different. Point is, you changed  _ your  _ actions, and moved forward. That’s not your fault if someone takes your ideas and twists them. You can’t erase all traces of a mistake just because you notice it and try to correct it. Damage is done, but this isn’t your fault. You’re here trying to fix it, aren’t you? That’s somethin’.”

Tony scoffs, fingers resting on the keyboard. “Fury made me, doesn’t count. And I don’t need your pep talk, Rogers. I need to make sure these bastards don’t sell so much as a granola bar, then I want to get the fuck out of here and have a drink.”

Fair enough. Steve won’t argue with that. He nods silently, wishing he knew what to say. Their happy atmosphere has dissolved, but it’s neither of their faults. He just doesn’t know how to get it back. So he stands in dumb silence as Tony brings up a few more files he wants to look at. They learn a few more details about some buyers, manufacturing details regarding revenue and production rate, and the high score of solitaire for whoever owns this computer. 

Steve notices something in one of the file folders Tony’s scouring through. He points to it with a furrowed brow, and in a  couple key taps they’re staring at another weapon design. It’s the Jericho again, but with a few modifications. Steve can read the notes in German, and Tony can interpret the engineering drawings, and they both understand what exactly they’re looking at. Loud and clear, are plans to integrate salvaged Chitauri technology into Tony’s already destructive designs. With alien contributions, these could quickly become the most powerful weapons on the planet.

It’s Steve’s turn to become flooded with rage and despair when he glances at the pile of papers and spots one peeking one from the bottom. In the corner is very clearly stamped the HYDRA symbol, in poignant red ink. He brushes aside the papers on top and pulls it out, hardly believing his eyes yet knowing he shouldn’t be so surprised by the sight of it. Steve didn’t die that day in 1945, so why should have HYDRA? In fact, Steve’s survival is the less likely of the two. Ideals are more resilient than people.

Yet his legs feel quivery as he examines the date on the document, his fingers equally unstable, wrapped around the crisp paper. This is not some preserved artifact – it's recent. HYDRA  is alive and well. Steve’s not sure if he wants to cry, pass out, yell, or just stand and stare blankly into space.

A hand rests on his arm, because Tony  _ has _ reached out to make contact, forgetting the computer and frowning at him with soft eyes in the darkness. His face is gently lit by the computer monitor, its glow caressing one side of his face as he turns entirely to face the soldier. They make eye-contact, and it’s immediately grounding. Tony’s eyes are so captivating that they yank him firmly and completely back to reality, and back to his body. This revelation won’t rock him; he’ll push through, and take this place down.

Steve’s anger must have made it to his expression in full force, because Tony is smiling at him a bit apprehensively, keeping the contact and squeezing a little. “Hey, easy big guy. You gonna be okay?”

Yes, he will be. Tony’s coping with his guilt, so Steve can deal with this. They’ll both keep their wits about them and focus to get this mission done. If anything, this has united them. They’ll tear down this entire organization together, if it’s the last thing they do.

Tony types in one last line of code. Since JARVIS can’t talk to him, or hear him, they have to communicate this way instead. Tony feeds the command. “I’m just asking J about the security systems,” he explains patiently. “Just in case there’s anything we should know about.”

Steve watches as the command prompt fills with lines of text, JARVIS working through the job he’s been given. New windows start opening, and he processes the information presented: there are time sheets, maps, lists of names, assigned weapons, training schedules and regimes. Anything they could possibly want to know about what could stand against them. Of course, these are just numbers, but it’s a start.

“We’ve got... well-trained goons, for sure,” Tony skims the opened tabs. “Not as tough as you, of course, but they’re put through the ringer, that’s for sure. Uh... standard weapons, semi-automatic hand-guns, machine guns, throwing knives. Grenades on the outdoor patrol guards. Radio systems, the usual. Nothing special.”

What  _ does _ catch their eye, however, are the protocols in place beyond the facility walls. They find themselves staring at a schematic of the surrounding area, the map marking where turrets are stationed.

“Christ, there’s a lot of firepower around this place,” Tony pulls up drawings of the turrets, reading the specs.

“Those things would shoot any kind of aircraft out of the sky before they had a chance to land,” Steve agrees. “ So no chance of an extraction until we take them down.”

“Unfortunately,” Tony agrees. “Captain America versus a canon upgraded with alien tech. Wanna place bets?”

“How about you tell me how they work, and you can bet as much as you like,” Steve replies calmly, already scanning the drawing.

“Well, all you  gotta do is get into this panel here and disable the thing,” Tony points to a spot on the drawing. Steve’s already memorized the picture. He nods. The engineer continues. “I mean, you could just bend the shaft. Canon shoots, whole thing blows up. You can do that, right?”

“ Sure I can,” Steve agrees with a hint of pride. There are five turrets positioned around the base. “If we both went at it, we could get these down before SHIELD entered the airspace.”

They’ve got the beginnings of a plan, and once they find out a bit more about this facility, they can start fleshing it out. For now, the computer has given them everything it can, scraped out completely by JARVIS and Tony together. Tony shuts down the desktop, careful not to leave any traces of his invasion. Steve makes sure to rearrange the papers on the desk how he found them. Together, they make for the door, Tony tucked safely behind Steve’s bulk.

The coast is clear, and they sneak out unseen.

Steve spots the security camera first, and he stops in his tracks, whipping out his arm just in case. He points, and Tony shakes his head. “J’s got us,” he whispers. “On a loop.”

Steve gets the picture and nods, carrying on. It’s a little nerve-wracking to walk right through the trajectory of the camera, but nothing happens. Nothing happens for the next few feet, too. And the next, and the next. Tony really does have this entire computer system in the palm of his hand. And thanks to him, they safely work their way deeper.

It’s time to descend to the lower floors. Most of the building is below ground, and right at the bottom is where Steve suspects they’ll find the storage area. Trouble is, they can’t just take the stairs or elevator, because if someone sees them there won’t be anywhere to hide.

“Are you afraid of heights?” Steve whispers, glancing over. He knows the safest way down, but Tony might not like it. “Or the dark?”

Tony shrugs nonchalantly, answering yet not at the same time. He vaguely waves a hand. “Heights are fine.”

“And the dark?” Maybe it’s just caves he doesn’t like. Steve needs to know.

“Not a fan, but I’ll live. What’s the plan?”

“I'm  gonna climb down the shaft,” Steve explains, “and you’re  gonna hold on to me.”

“Fine by me,” Tony agrees, looking away. He doesn’t look entirely pleased though, and maybe a little rattled, too. He hides it well though, facing the elevator.

“Can you get the doors open?” Steve could easily pry them apart, but he’s worried he’ll dent them. Tony nods. Together they pace over, and the inventor gets to one knee, digging out a screw driver. The control panel comes off, and he drops it into Steve’s hands. His chip comes out, and he’s juggling wires expertly. Steve’s not sure what he’s watching, but it’s fascinating. Again, he wishes he didn’t have to stand guard and could just watch. Tech doesn’t scare him, and he’s not opposed to, as some people seem to think. No, he’s interested in it, and he knows he can learn it in record time thanks to the serum. It’s just hard to know where to start.

Tony would know. If he gets the chance, and this mission doesn’t leave them as mortal enemies, then maybe he’ll ask.

The doors are sliding open, and Tony plucks the panel from his fingers, securing it perfectly back over the wiring. Then he stands ready, swallowing and trying to look confident. Steve is about to suggest they call this off, but he can hear footsteps. He turns and crouches, and Tony crawls onto his back, wrapping his arms around the Captain’s neck, and his legs around his waist. Steve slips through the gap in the elevator doors, and pushes them shut from the inside. The two of them are plunged into darkness.

It only takes his eyes a second to adjust. Steve clings to the cables and looks down. The elevator car is far below them, stationary. He glances over his shoulder, and can just make out the tufts of brown hair tickling his cheek. Tony is hanging on  _ very _ tightly, almost shakily so. “Okay back there?”

“Just climb,” Tony croaks, and Steve can hear some fear there.  So he climbs, grasping the cable in his gloved hands and descending at a controlled speed. He’s not far from the top of the car when the cables creak and it starts to rise. Tony squeezes harder, his pulse slamming through Steve’s back.

“Hang on,” Steve whispers gently. This is a bad idea. Whatever Tony’s afraid of, this dark shaft is putting him in a bad place. Guilt makes a comeback. “Hey, easy. Breathe.” He carefully lands his foot on the top of the car and settles to his knee. He can just see through the grating into the lit car.

Tony’s hyperventilating in his ear, struggling to control it, though he’s trying. Steve would keep talking, but the car slows, easing to a stop right where they just came through. Two people get in, and the car starts to descend again. The occupants are talking in German, muffled but audible to Steve. He tries to ignore Tony’s breathing as much as he can so he can focus on the conversation. But the least he can do is reach out with one hand and wrap it firmly around the inventor’s calf where its pressed into his stomach.

As far as he can tell, these men are headed to the warehouse. Steve searches the top of the elevator car and spots the latch to open it. They’ll be able to slide out behind these men, if no-one else is around. And the sooner Tony gets into some light, the better.

The elevator stops, there’s a faint ding, and the two men step out. Steve listens, lowering himself as well as he can with the cargo on his back. There isn’t any chatter beyond the elevator, and no-one else gets in as the doors shut again. Steve catches a little of what lies beyond, and the coast looks clear. Just empty hallway. He gives it a few second before letting go of the elevator cable and reaching for the latch. He doesn’t dare let go of Tony’s leg, but he doesn’t have any trouble popping the hatch open and shifting the grating aside. Careful not to scrape the inventor against the edge, he lowers himself through and lands lightly on the ground.

“Tony, we’re here,” he announces softly. “You can get off.”

It takes the engineer a few seconds before he loosens his grip and starts to descend. Steve bends his knees a little and takes a step closer to the edge. Tony slides shakily off and reaches for the railing, trembling and distant. Politely, Steve turns around and reaches up to pull the grating back into place. When he looks back, Tony is pale and still gripping the railing, lost in his head.

There’s no time to stop and talk about it, not here, when they could be discovered at any second. Steve presses the button to open the elevator door and peers out. The coast is still clear, miraculously. He wraps his hand around Tony’s bicep and guides him out firmly, offering his support as well as moving urgently out of the elevator toward somewhere safer. Once they get there, then they can stop and think. This short strip of hallway quickly leads to a gangway overlooking the warehouse below. It’s full of boxes, and there are a lot of people mingling down there. Someone is driving a forklift and moving some crates from one side of the room to the other, and around a corner. Guards wander, and a few men in suits and hard hats chat while inspecting a tablet.

What they need is a broom cupboard, which is exactly what he finds. Steve opens it and finds it spacious enough to fit two men comfortably. He yanks a towel off the shelf and wedges it under the door, switching on the light. Then he tugs over a mop bucket with his foot and flips it upside-down, brushing it off with his hand and sitting Tony on it. He clasps the engineer by the shoulders to steady him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have made you do that.”

Tony shakes his head, dropping it into his hands. “No, no it’s fine,” he insists quietly.

“Everybody’s afraid of something,” Steve argues softly. “I  shoulda known you were afraid of the dark, with the cave-”

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” Tony growls, but it quickly trails off as he drops his voice again. He glances up, and the expression in his eyes is difficult to read. “It’s not... it’s...”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Steve replies calmly, gently. “Just catch your breath. And we won’t do that again unless we absolutely have to. Just breathe.”

Tony stands up and whirls around, leaning on some shelving and resting his forehead against the cold metal structure. He sighs with frustration, and his hands are quaking.

Steve knows what this is, because he’s been there himself. Something’s triggered the inventor, and if it’s not the dark, then what is it? Elevator shafts? Closed spaces?

The shelving is rattling. Tony is losing himself. Steve reaches over. “Hey, just breathe. Okay? We can’t go anywhere until you’re with me. I’m right here.”  _ For all that’s worth... _ This doesn’t feel entirely right, because he hardly knows Tony, and it’s his fault the inventor is on the verge of a panic attack. 

To his surprise though, Tony actually leans into his touch and tries to regulate his breathing in time with Steve’s. They seem to be getting somewhere, until a violent tremor passes through his body, and his eyes go completely blank. Tony mumbles something under his breath. “Suit... need the suit.” He’s moving his hands shakily, forming some kind of gesture. Sign language...? It looks deliberate, though unconscious.

The suit. He’s calling the suit, somehow. Steve spins Tony around by the shoulders and grabs his wrists, steadying and stilling him. “No. Tony, no. Send it back.”

“N-need it,” the inventor trembles, but he can’t possibly hope to win a fight against the Captain’s strength, and doesn’t try. “P-please, Steve...”

“Breathe,” Steve orders, putting on his Captain’s voice. “Tony. Tony, listen to me. I need you to look me in the eyes.” He and Stark are polar opposites, but this he understands. He’s ashamed that he’s caused this, ashamed that he hasn’t been amicable, but he can wallow in it later. Right now, he needs to be a friend. And there’s nobody firmer and steadier than Captain America.

Tony  _ does _ look at him, obeying the commands given and holding the Captain’s level stare. The shaking eases, and he returns to his own mind.

“That’s it,” Steve whispers. “That’s it, Tony, breathe with me.” He can hear the inventor’s rapid pulse rate, can hear the arteries pumping blood frantically. Gently, he guides one of Tony’s hands, unzipping the Kevlar vest and pushing his palm to the soldier’s chest. Steve’s heartbeat is slow and even. It’s real, and maybe it’ll be enough to pound through wherever Tony’s mind is trying to emigrate him to. Steve recalls the inventor’s file, that he was held prisoner in  Afganistan , tortured. That’s how he became Iron Man. Does this episode have anything to do with that, or is it  something else?

They spend maybe five minutes just standing there breathing before Tony starts to look more like himself. He’s breathing normally, his color is back, and his eyes are focused. Nervously, he opens his mouth. But Steve cuts him off, and he’s not sure what compels him to do this. They’ve spent enough of this mission bickering that he’s mildly surprised Tony doesn’t push him away when he leans in for a hug. In fact, the inventor leans in too, heaving a deep sigh into the valley of the soldier’s chest. They both savor it, and Steve realizes that this feel pretty good for himself, too. He just wishes they weren’t in a broom closet in enemy territory.

“I’m okay,” Tony is the one to separate them, ruffling his hair with a hand as if to reset himself. He looks in control again, handsome face wearing confidence. A fleck of gratefulness in the glance he gives Steve is the only sign of acknowledgement of what just happened. “Let’s go.”

And Steve respects the urge to move on. Sometimes these things do have to be suppressed for later.  They can't stand around and talk about their feeling right now anyway, even if Tony decided Steve was the right guy to talk to. The circumstances aren't favorable, but they make due. Tony pulls himself together. With new-found respect for his coworker, Steve steps out of the closet.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony’s a little embarrassed about what just happened. He doesn’t want to be a hindrance, doesn’t want the soldier to look down on him. It’s hard not to feel inadequate when your partner is Captain America. The best he can do to feel better is push Steve’s buttons. They’re too easy to push, and it reminds him that Captain America is a human being with flaws.

For now, he can’t bring himself to make jabs. Not after what’s just happened. Steve’s not supposed to know how unstable and broken he’s been since nearly being swallowed by a wormhole.

What annoys him most is that for a moment he felt safe. Tony’s never been a touchy person, but just for those few moments wrapped up in Steve’s arms, he felt like things would be okay. But there’s a good chance he’ll never get to be there again, because for now they’re in the middle of a mission. Tony won’t let himself slip again, and when this mission is over, they’ll go their separate ways. Yet, no matter how he tries to forget what happened, he can’t.

He’s noticing new curves and grooves of muscle as Steve moves. The soldier is zipping up his bullet-proof vest again, and opening the door. No doubt about it: he’s a specimen. It’s the eyes that are most captivating, though. The character that lives in this body is... enticing. Tony gets a flash of it when Steve turns to beckon him, making strong eye contact. Despite their strong, square structure, he’s got kind features. It goes beyond his bone structure and smooth skin. The way he smiles so subtly makes Tony want to follow this man to the ends of the Earth. 

He also realizes that Steve’s a lot more relaxed than when they’d met up at the tower. They’ve been getting along somewhat, something he’d have proclaimed impossible simply because the math shouldn’t work. Numbers never lie, and the two of them surely form something asymptotic.

Tony wonders if this happens to the other SHIELD agents Steve’s worked with in the past, if they’ve been distracted by the golden warmth packed so perfectly into his clothes. Have they drunkenly followed orders, because Steve’s timber is so compelling and hypnotic? Tony isn’t the following type, but he finds himself stalking after Steve, obeying hand gestures as they sneak along the gangway and down some metal-grated steps. Now they’re weaving through the maze of crates stacked on high shelving. He glances at the labels as they tip-toe by. It feels like he’s drowning in his lifetime of mistakes, reading all these products so familiar to him, but  Steve keeps him afloat. Focusing on the soldier just ahead, close enough to touch, holds his head above the water. Steve doesn’t pity him, so Tony shouldn’t either. He holds his head high, and keeps walking, pushing aside thoughts of self-doubt, and the crushing realization that just like everyone else, Steve will get sick of him eventually and leave.  _ Best to speed up the process.  _ Pushing the Captain’s buttons is fun and easy, but it’s a self-defense mechanism, too. He knows it. Tony’s always been cursed with a certain level of self-awareness. He knows his own flaws, he’s just not sure how to fix them.

“There’s enough firepower here to sink Manhattan,” Steve mutters. No way can they just blow this place up, then. Who knows how much damage an explosion like that could cause. A  tsunami to nearby land masses is more than possible.

The forklift drives by, and they both tuck themselves against the shelving. Once it’s out of sight, Steve beckons. They follow it from the other side of the shelves. It rounds the corner, and they carefully press themselves to the wall, looking around. What they find is a loading bay, and a handful of workers helping to push the crate from the forklift to a ramp. The ramp leads up to a narrow channel, in which bobs a submarine.

There are two more subs docked along the edge, ready to be loaded with cargo and shipped out to buyers. Two men in suits hover by the ramp, taking notes. Tony recognizes the brands they’re wearing: this business they’re running is profitable.

He wishes he knew what they’re saying, but Steve does, translating the German to him in pieces. He leans in and whispers, lips terribly close to Tony’s ear. “They’re preparing to ship out,” he conveys. A pause. “They want to leave tomorrow night... they’re just waiting for some more supplies. There’s one more weapon they need to make.” Steve glances at him and swallows, paling a little as he listens to the next string of conversation. Orders are barked, there’s some more chatter, topped off with laughter. Steve doesn’t relay that part, looking away darkly.  _ Stark,  _ Tony hears them say, his name littered in a few times. He can only guess what being said about him, by their tone, and Steve’s lack of willingness to pass it on.

People are moving away from the sub, now. Steve tugs them both against the wall and they stand there pressed up to each other. The men in suits walk by, still laughing and talking, and the forklift is soon to follow, off to fetch another crate. Steve moves when it’s safe, keeping himself between the enemy and Tony in the event that they’re spotted. It innerves Tony how willing Steve is to make himself a shield, yet it doesn’t surprise him.

There’s a lot of firepower contained in this one room. Steve’s got the same look on his face that he did in 2012 when he walked back into the lab on the SHIELD helicarrier and dumped old HYDRA tech on the table. The soldier is quietly lifting one of the wooden lids and peering inside the crate. Tony glances in too, and what he sees sends a shiver down his spine.

He’ll never forget what those  Chitauri weapons look like. The glint of foreign crystals and alloys is so familiar. Seeing them integrated with the equally-familiar shapes and textures of weapons that used to be his life is sickening. Suddenly, the ground is gone beneath him, and he’s shaking again. Everything about this feels like a stab in the chest, because after all he’s fought to be better, it’s only come back to this: this is all he is, the merchant of death, tied so tightly to a fate of suffering. He deserves this, to feel this low and defeated.

“I need the suit.” Tony doesn’t realize he’s spoken until the words are out of his mouth. He can’t breathe. He feels cold and naked, and the only thing that can stop him tumbling into an endless black is Iron Man. Before Steve can stop him, he’s gesturing with his arms to summon the suit from the bottom of the ocean.

“Tony,” Steve’s grabbing him sternly, but it’s too late. “Tony, listen to me.” The soldier is practically picking him up, taking him to the very end of the row and shelving and hiding them both. He’s taking Tony by the shoulders, urgent but not unkind. Whatever the Captain is saying, it goes in one ear and out the other. Seeing those weapons has tipped the inventor over the edge.

He can’t breathe. He feels like he’s falling, and blackness is eating up his vision. It wants to blind him, to take him where Earth can’t reach him. Tony flounders, but he can’t move because he’s being held in place by a pair of large, warm hands. Steve’s so warm... warmer than the cold of space. Warmer even than the explosion of a missile blasting the  Chitauri battle ship to pieces. And he  _ needs _ the suit-

People are shouting of the sound of crashing, and Steve is moving them, taking Tony by the arm and leading them quietly toward the stairway. Tony is stumbling along, suffocating as his throat tries to seal itself shut. His lungs burn, but he keeps moving because Steve is dragging him along, one hand sealed around his bicep. Somewhere deep down, he knows he should feel guilty: now is not the time for a breakdown, which he’s promised himself he won’t have until this whole ordeal is over.

Well, it’s too late to stop this. They have to make the best of it. Or, Steve does, because Tony can’t make heads or tails of anything. He’s not even sure this is real anymore. He’s having a nightmare of some sort.

Iron Man is the only thing that can protect him. If he falls back into the suit, it’ll catch him, and hide him. Nobody will be able to see how badly he’s  shaking, how pathetic he is. Like an angel through the fires of Hell, Iron Man  _ does _ burst in. It’s come through the wall, the parts flying toward him. He chokes out a teary laugh and lets it fly to him. People are still shouting, because Iron Man has just burst into their secret facility, and there are intruders already inside. Steve’s  _ yelling, _ giving him orders he can’t register. There’s anger in the soldier’s face. He’s pointing up the stairs.

It’s a lot easier to think the second his body is wrapped in metal. The HUD lights up, and he’s safe.  Somehow he remembers they’re still in a battlefield, and that if this  _ is _ real, he needs to do what he can to protect Steve. It sounds stupid, because Captain America can take care of himself, but he doesn’t have a bullet-proof suit. Tony does, so he keeps it between the soldier and the oncoming shots.  Instinctively, he raises his hands to fire the  repulsors . Bullets ricochet off his plating as he takes down the men one at a time. With JARVIS to help aim, they fall. The guards, the warehouse workers, the two men in their expensive suits.

A shot  flies toward him, and it barely misses. Tony looks over and spots a guard hoisting a modified  Chitauri weapon. Time to go.

JARVIS is yammering in his ear, but he can barely hear it. He’s still fighting to ground himself in reality. Luckily, the suit’s intuitive, and it doesn’t take much initiation to get it to turn. Tony wraps his gauntlet around Steve’s wrist and flies them up the steps. Another blast follows them as the guard follows, melting a hole in the floor beside them.

“Up!” Steve’s yelling, pointing to the stairwell. Tony sets him down, and the soldier runs across the gangway, kicking the door open. They race through, and Tony grabs him again, flying them up and up past swarms of guards hurrying to help their companions. They shoot, but none of the bullets can hurt Tony. He’s going too fast, anyway. Too fast to hit. But not too fast that a super soldier can’t hit a mark. Steve shoots back with his free hand, and takes down as many men as he can before his magazine runs out. Without his other hand, he can’t reload, so he holsters the weapon.

They reach the top, ground floor, and Tony sets Steve down. Iron Man blasts the door right off its hinges, and he jets down the hallways frantically. He needs to see the  sun, needs to know he really is on Earth. The suit obliges, helping him zip down the hallways and take tight corners. A few do get clipped, but there’s no helping that. In a matter of seconds, he spots the exit. Without slowing, he fires his shoulder canons and blasts the door right off. Tony flies through, and the sun greets him.

He really is on Earth. Home, safe.

No, not safe. He’s being chased. There are people with guns surely running after him, and he can hear a loud whir to his right. When he looks over, there’s a ball of blue energy flying for him: the turrets. Tony rolls, dodging the shot. Someone grunts nearby, and he remembers he’s not alone.

Steve. Tony’s heart squeezes so hard he’s sure he’s having a heart attack. It helps a little to see that Steve is actually right there beside him, his legs a blur as he keeps pace with the suit. Maybe Tony instinctively slowed the speed so his companion could keep up.... He hopes so, because for a moment he was so wrapped up in his need for sun that Steve completely slipped his mind.

The soldier is here though, his expression reasonably stern as he sprints along. There’s so much power there, that Tony can’t help but admire it. He’s never had the pleasure of seeing Captain America move at full speed before. Nobody could be prepared for the sight of it, that’s for certain.

He remembers to be remorseful when another shot tears up a tree right in front of them. Tony easily swerves around the splintering wreckage, glancing back to make sure Steve’s okay. The soldier is unfazed: he doesn’t slow, hurling his huge frame forward, legs first, and slides along the ground on his hip as the tree falls. He protects his face with both arms as smoldering splinters shower him. The tree crashes down, but it’s missed Steve, who’s back on his feet and running again. He hasn’t faltered, or lost any momentum, still right at Tony’s side.

The canon shoots again, but its targets are out of range. Tony can see there are some guards in pursuit when he glances behind him, but they won’t catch Iron Man and Captain America. A couple of bullets chase them, but soon they’re out of range. Neither of them  stop though. Now that they’re running, they need to get as far away from the facility as possible. Tony hopes that he can just keep flying, and eventually this whole mess will be long behind him. He dreads what Steve will say when they’re back at camp. But he  _ can’t _ just fly away, because he can’t leave Steve behind, all by himself. 

It seems like they’ll get away, but of course they won’t. Nothing will work in their favor for the rest of this mission. There’s a ringing in his ears, and he clips a tree. The suit comes apart, and he falls, clattering and rolling to the ground as bits of metal fly off him. Apparently, they’ve run a lot farther than he realized, because the momentum carries him off the cliff. Fragments of suit fall with him, and he flails, choking a cry of surprise, but he can’t get any sound out because the impact has knocked the air out of him. He’s tumbling, hyperventilating, and the black is coming for him. The portal is swallowing him, and the last light of day winks out.

It’s black because Steve has launched himself off the cliff after him without hesitating, and his huge frame is crashing into Tony. Sturdy arms wrap around him, and they turn in mid-air. Tony’s pressed into Steve’s chest, and the soldier is falling shoulders-first, reaching out with his free arm as they crash through the tree tops. Branches lash at them, and all he can hear is cracking.

For a moment they slow: Steve’s managed to catch a branch. It’s not strong enough to support their speed and combined weight, though, and snaps. They’re plummeting again, Steve’s body plowing a path through the trees and his other hand wrapping tightly around Tony’s head. After what feels like  minutes they finally hit the ground. There’s a grunt, and the perpetual crack of branches plus a monumental thud. Tony grunts too, because his whole body is slammed against Steve’s firm chest when they hit. They bounce and tumble, both of Steve’s arms wrapped protectively around him.

They bounce again, rolling and rolling while Steve’s arms start to come loose. No matter how perfectly all the bulk of Captain America shields him, it’s still quite the tumble. Tony blacks out well before they come to a stop.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for the feedback! It's always interesting to see what bits people notice/enjoy.
> 
> Can you imagine that when I first conceived this, I thought it might be more on the cute/humorous side of things? And look what happened instead. I'm not sorry.

When Tony opens his eyes, he can’t breathe. His whole body aches, and he’s pretty sure there’s dirt in his mouth. That’s the clue that he’s not just woken up from a terrible nightmare, or accidentally knocked himself out fiddling in his workshop. It’s happened. He’s hit his head too many times to count. 

Tony groans and shifts, and to his relief nothing protests too terribly. Nothing is broken, and he hasn’t ruptured anything. All his limbs are attached and functional, just bruised. 

He’s pressed into the ground on his stomach, an arm tucked under his ribs and pushed uncomfortably into them. It’s not his arm, he realizes, but rather the arm of the person crushing him into the forest floor. 

Steve. 

“Get off,” Tony groans again, trying to push the Captain off his back. Steve is _heavy._ “Steve, come on.” He growls frustratedly, slightly dazed. That doesn’t help his mood. He gives another shove, and rolls Steve off of him. 

There are bits or Iron Man littered around them, as well as plenty of broken twigs and branches. Tony plucks some pine needles from his hair and ruffles it, checking his throbbing head for blood. There is none. Right, of course, Rogers had his hand wrapped around it. Wincing, Tony gets to his knees. Steve lies beside him in the dirt, completely relaxed, a little pale. 

“Rogers.” They’ve fallen, right. Tony glances up the cliff. It’s a long way up. He can’t even see the top, it’s so obscured by trees. 

They’ve fallen, and it’s his fault. Steve took the brunt of it, too. How many feet did they crash? Tony swallows, sobering. “Rogers,” he tries again, reaching under Steve’s jaw for a pulse. _I’ve killed him, I’ve killed him. I killed Captain America-_ Steve isn’t dead. His heart is beating at a pretty steady rate, actually. He’s just not moving. 

“Come on, Cap, wake up,” Tony urges, endlessly thankful that the other man is actually breathing. There’s no obvious sign of injury, no jutting bones or gushing blood. _I did this. This is my fault._ Maybe if he just waits a few minutes the super soldier will come round. He did take the full force of their fall, and surely nobody can just bounce back after that. 

The sky is much darker than he remembers it being, and when he looks up through the small patches of sky visible through the treetops, he can see dark storm clouds rolling in over them. It’ll be pouring rain soon, and there’ll surely be a search party out to scour the island for the two intruders. Tony can’t just leave Steve here on the ground to take his sweet time. 

“Up and at’um soldier,” Tony coaxes. He’s got to move Steve somehow, but there’s no way he can carry the much larger man. Maybe if Iron Man weren’t so scattered... He moves his hand, summoning the suit to him. A piece of gauntlet wobbles out of some bushes and rattles toward him, but that’s it. 

Some part of his rattled brain remembers first-aid, and that if Steve hasn’t woken up yet then he’s probably hit his head. Tony very carefully slips his hand under Steve’s soft blonde hair and feels the back of his skull. His fingers come away tacky and smeared red, but the wound isn’t gushing. It appears to have already clotted. Still not a good sign. He knows people with head injuries shouldn’t be moved, but he _really_ can’t afford to wait around. 

“God, you’re a pain in the ass, Rogers...” Tony scrubs his face nervously. “If you could wake up, that’d be dandy. I work out, but not enough to lug you around, that’s for sure.” He reaches for the Captain’s bullet-proof vest and unzips it carefully. “You’ve got until I’m done checking you out, then I’m dragging you through the forest, got it? It’ll be embarrassing. You don’t want to be dragged, do you?” 

Steve doesn’t answer, completely unconscious. 

Tony sighs, defeated, and lifts up the Captain’s shirt. He does his best not to stare, but he does linger longer than he has to as he palpates the soldier’s stomach. It feels normal, firm with muscle, yes, but not rigid with blood or bruised. He gratefully rules out internal bleeding and moves up. Bruises hug Steve’s torso from behind, just beginning to blossom into deep, bright swaths of color. Miraculously though, the bones are in-tact. Likely cracked with the force they took, but all aligned where they should be. How they aren’t all crushed into Steve’s lungs, Tony doesn’t want to think much about. He’s happy just to be thankful that Steve has very tough bones. 

Steve must have led with his shoulders, because Tony realizes that the right one looks wonky. It’s dislocated, but at least the soldier isn’t awake to suffer or cry out while the engineer prepares to set it. “Okay, Steve, maybe just... keep napping for a bit,” Tony takes off the Kevlar vest. He sets the item aside and takes the arm by the elbow, carefully rotating it. _I can do this._ This isn’t anything outside of what he can handle. He’s adaptable, quick-thinking, resourceful. This is no big deal. All he has to do is stay calm. 

Steve’s arm pops back into place with a loud pop, but the soldier doesn’t even flinch, though Tony winces in sympathy. It’s done. He doesn’t give himself any time to breathe, continuing his assessment. Steve’s wrist looks a little swollen, probably fractured. It’ll heal in no time, and at least it doesn’t need setting. It won’t stop Captain America. _Captain America always gets back up._ “It’d be great if you could get up now,” Tony murmurs. He run his hands down Steve’s legs, and to his relief nothing feels out of place. The image of Steve zipped up in that ridiculously painted, ridiculously _tight_ suit Coulson had designed for him springs to mind. 

No, now’s not the time. Tony furrows his brow. He wishes he knew what’s wrong. Steve looks so young all of a sudden, sprawled and vulnerable. Both of them are pretty scraped up. Just as he was supposed to, Steve played Tony’s body guard without hesitation. Tony comes closer, takes Steve’s face between his hands without really thinking. The skin is smooth and soft, lily white and without a single blemish. Perfect, angelic. Without his stern frown, Steve looks... peaceful. Like he’s sleeping so deeply that nothing can touch him. 

His neck doesn’t look right. There’s a rivulet of blood across his throat that must have dribbled while he was laid across Tony’s back. Tony searches with careful fingers around the back, finds another scrape there. The skin he touches is warm and swollen. _Oh god._ He’s broken Captain America. _Please no..._ It’s hard to confirm just by feeling along the vertebrae, but what he’s discovering isn’t promising. His heart is in his throat, and it’s lurched to a stop. 

This is _well_ beyond his expertise. Tony does sit back now, stricken with guilt and terror. Steve’s neck might very well be broken. Maybe his spine is damaged in other places, too. It’s hard to tell. _What have I done..._ Things were actually going well until... Until the elevator shaft. Until the open crate. Until he let his emotions get away from him. Tony squeezes his eyes shut, fighting against the wave of inadequacy dragging him down. All he wants to do is lie down and give up, but he can’t. 

A drop of rain splatters on his cheek. It’s cold and harsh, and it brings him back. They can’t stay out here. Steve _has_ to be moved. If Tony is careful... He’ll just have to hope that Captain America is tough enough to withstand a little jostling. 

“I’m so sorry,” the words spill out of his mouth as he puts his arm through Steve’s Kevlar vest. “I’m so sorry, god, I’m sorry... I fucked everything up... I fucked _you_ up...” He loops his arms under Steve’s armpits and pulls. _Shit_ the Captain is heavy. There’s no chance at a friendship now, no chance of getting another one of those miraculous hugs. He’s fucked that right up. How could Steve look at him after this? _If he wakes up._

He will. Steve _will_ wake up, and though Tony dreads facing the scorn of Captain America, he’s relieved that his companion is breathing more-or-less normally. He doesn’t need Captain America’s death on his conscience. _What difference does it make, at this_ _point..._

Tony drags. He pulls Steve’s body through the trees, and to his surprise, he spots their camp almost right away. Somehow, they haven’t landed far from it. Which means the cave is nearby. 

Rain is coming. They would be much better sheltered in a cave than a tent. Tony swallows and glances down at Steve’s heaving chest. His shirt is dampened by slowly intensifying rain, clinging to his pecs. _Cave would be better. Warmer. Safer. They won’t find us there._ If Steve can literally take a fall for Tony, then Tony can do this. He can put aside his fears and do what needs to be done. 

The cave is just a few minutes along the cliffside, but Tony’s back aches from being so hunched. He ignores it. He has no right to hurt, certainly not like this. This is only fair. Luckily, Steve’s shoulders fit through the gap, so he can pull the larger man in without too much difficulty. The second Steve’s feet leave the light, Tony shudders. It’s _very_ dark in here. 

Cautiously, he sets Steve down, cradling his head and slipping his vest underneath. Tony takes off his own and adds it, knowing that it’ll be better than hard rock. Then he turns to inspect the cave, lifting his shirt with a shaking hand. The shadows are dimly cast in blue as he exposes the only light he has on his person – his arc reactor – around the cavern. To his relief, it’s uninhabited. Water drips near the back, but otherwise it’s dry and sheltered. There’s a draft near one side, but the space as a whole will be warmer than outside when the rain comes. 

People with head injuries shouldn’t be left alone, but Tony has to leave Steve. The man is breathing fine, he reasons. It’s safe. He runs, sprinting the short distance to their camp. He fumbles with their supplies, packing it into the two bags as fast as he can. The wind picks up, and he has to pause to get his waterproof coveralls over him. That’s much better. Tony puts his head down and stuffs the last fold of tarp into the backpack. Then he picks up both and starts to lug them back toward the cave. 

Steve’s still on his back, unconscious but stable. Tony wastes no time unpacking, turning on the lamp and shedding the cavern with yellow light. He spreads the thermal floor cover down, rolls out the sleeping mats one on top of the other, and drags Steve over by his shoulders again. With a little maneuvering, he’s positioned the Captain on the mats. 

If he had JARVIS, he’d ramble to him, but he doesn’t. So Tony rambles to himself. “You’ll sleep this off, right Cap?” Tony takes what he needs from one bag and pushes it under Steve’s legs. He takes out a pillow and inflates it with a couple of puffs. “Yup, that serum of yours will fix you right up, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be back to annoying the hell out of me in no time. We can get this god-forsaken mission over with, and you can stomp right back to Fury. He’ll probably set Romanoff on me, unless of course you want the honors. I’d let you sock me in the face for this. Honestly, you deserve it.” He cradles Steve’s head and pushes the pillow under it. Then he darts outside and grabs a couple of rocks. They go under each side of the pillow, wedged firmly against the soldier’s ears. He hopes that will be fine until the serum fixes this. 

Of course the first-aid isn’t stocked for spinal injuries. Tony searches through it, but the best he can do is splint Steve’s swollen wrist. It’s definitely fractured now that he looks at it. He feels a little better after it’s wrapped, like he’s finally done something useful. The arm he props up on Steve’s chest. Then he pulls a blanket across the man and steps back. 

Iron Man can’t be left out in the forest. It’s one huge beacon pointing to their location. Once again, he leaves Steve on his own, and pushes into the rain. If he has Iron Man, he has JARVIS, and can contact SHIELD. Without those turrets, he’d have already used the beacon. But if he can call and let Fury know about those weapons, they can send the helicopter safely to this side of the island without coming anywhere near the turrets’ range. They can get Steve out of here and checked out. 

_Maybe he’ll wake up and be okay, and we can finish this mission._ Tony can hope. _Or maybe he’ll have retrograde amnesia and won’t remember who I am. Yes, that would be better. We can start fresh. He doesn’t have to know it’s my fault we fell off a fucking cliff._

\-- 

Tony can’t bear his own thoughts as he trudges through the rain gathering Iron Man out of mud and grass. It’s cold, and his fingers are freezing. At least most of him is dry though, thanks to the coveralls. He shivers and pulls the last piece out of a bush, dropping it down the cliff. Some of the pieces fell with them, but some have landed up here. He tries not to look down. It’s a very long way, and he can’t imagine what would have become of his body had he not had Steve to protect him. 

_You’re such an idiot,_ Tony thinks, intending the thought for Steve. He knows that Rogers was only doing what he was sent here to do, and that Tony is the idiot here. He wipes his nose on his sleeve and starts the trek back round to the place where he can safely scale down the cliffside. With everything soaking wet and muddy, he has to be extra careful not to slip. If he falls and hurts himself, it’ll only make Steve’s sacrifice pointless, and Tony’s not about to add insult to injury. 

He gathers up Iron Man in a couple of armfuls, and finally the whole thing is sitting in a pathetic pile out of the rain. Tony abandons it and sits by Steve, wrapping himself in a blanket. He pulls his arms out of the sleeves of his coveralls and tucks his hands under his armpits, trying to coax some warmth back into them. Steve looks the same, a little pale but breathing at a steady rate. He’s not moved at all. 

_How long would that take you to heal? A day, a week?_ Everything in his life feels like it turns to disaster. “God, what have I done...” Tony wraps himself more tightly in his blanket and puts his head between his knees. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t pull himself out of this. He’s shaking again, replaying the events over and over in his head. Now they’re in this cave, and he just can’t take it. He wants to cry, and his throat is tightening. All the air in his chest is evacuating, leaving him with nothing but choking, breathless sobs. “Fuck. _Fuck._ " 

Everything he touches turns to ash. Now Steve’s suffering for it, the next victim of the Stark curse. Tony _knows_ he shouldn’t be wallowing right now, because self-deprecation is a form of egotism and surely this shouldn’t be about him right now, but he can’t stop himself. Steve should be the focus. He should be doing everything he had to make sure his companion is comfortable and safe, but he _can’t._ There’s a blockade he’s not strong enough to move. He doesn’t have the will-power to push through. 

“I’m so sorry...” he’ll say it as many times as he has to. “Steve, I’m so sorry...” 

Sorry doesn’t fix a damn thing. 

Even with the lamp, this cave is so _dark..._ He can just see the glow of his arc reactor pushing from under the collar of his shirt and coveralls. Just like that, he’s back in Afghanistan, and there are wires running under his shirt. A car battery is keeping him alive, and his whole chest aches. It’s not Steve at his feet but Yinsen, who’s given his life so Tony can live instead. How many more people will have to die for him? How many people will get hurt protecting him? 

He’s not worth all this. He can’t be. If space had swallowed him back then, he’d have died happy. A hero. His last act would have been something selfless, something that saved countless lives. He’d have been mourned, would have left a good impression. But he survived, and now he’s been given the chance to fuck up making friends. 

He _wants_ Steve to be his friend. Fat chance of that now. 

So Tony does what he always does when he starts to slide: he works on the suit. If he can’t fix himself, he can at least make himself a perfect shell. 


	6. Chapter 6

Iron Man is busted. It technically wasn’t working right to begin with, but now it won’t even switch on. He’s tried everything, but it just sits there in a pile, mocking him. The helmet sits in his lap, its menacing face full of scorn.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Tony throws down the screwdriver and puts his face in his hands. Iron Man doesn’t answer. And it won’t until he can jump-start it. Without a power source, that’s not going to happen. Tony Stark can fix anything, but sometimes he needs more than a few screw drivers. He’s not a miracle worker.

The storm is over, finally. It feels like it’s been raging for hours. The rain eases to a stop, and a little bit of evening sun pierces through the cave opening. Nearby, Steve groans low in his throat. Tony discards the helmet and hurries over as quickly as he can. 

Steve’s wincing, and his pulse and heart rate have picked up, but at least he’s not trying to get up. He’s got to be in pain though.

“Rise and shine Cap, get those baby blues open for me.” Tony watches with a furrowed brow, waiting to see how much his companion will remember, or how lucid he’ll be.

“Tony?” Steve squints up at him, and his voice is hoarse and quiet.

“Yup,” the inventor confirms. “Now do you remember who  _ you _ are? How many fingers?” He holds up two.

“Course I do,” the soldier scowls a little, then squints. “Two.” 

Tony raises his hands. “Just checking. Hit your head pretty good. How you feelin’?”

“Head hurts,” Steve’s eyelids droop for a moment, before flying open again. Frantically, he whips his gaze across Tony, suddenly remembering. “You okay?”

“Just dandy,” Tony confirms, spreading his hands to show he’s in-tact. The concern warms him, as much as he wants to smack the soldier for it.  _ Worry about yourself, idiot. I’m the one who used you as a human shield. You’re very good at it, I might add. Five stars.  _

“Good,” Steve heaves a sigh and relaxes. His eyes widen again as he notices the cave. Once again, his stare is filled with concern that has no place being there. “The cave-”

“Yup,” Tony cuts him off. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “Nice and dry. Turns out you were  right, your shoulders did fit.” He still can’t believe he tried to use that as an excuse. Some smooth-talking genius he is.

“But-”

“’But’ nothing.  S’fine .” It really is. He can’t say he feels comfortable in here, but with company it’s bearable. Besides, he’s not doing this for himself. It makes it easier that way. “Wasn’t  gonna leave you out in the rain, Spangles. You missed one hell of a storm, by the way.”

Steve frowns. “How long was I...? How did we...?” He looks around the cave, then back across Tony’s body.

“Couple of hours,” Tony shrugs, trying not to think about the eyes on him. He knows Steve’s just trying to figure out how they got here, and not checking him out. “Out like a light. Had to drag your heavy ass through the forest. I won’t tell anyone, though. Promise.” He tries to smile, but it’s probably not very encouraging.

“Thanks,” Steve murmurs. “Sorry.” He looks genuinely guilty.

“Don’t you fucking dare be sorry,” Tony snaps before he can help himself. “ _ I’m  _ the one that fell. You saved me.  So don’t give me that shit.”

Steve tries to shake his head, but Tony stops him with a firm hand across his forehead. The soldier winces and licks his lips. “S-sorry for... for making you... go where you’re not comfortable. My fault.”

No.  _ No. _ None of what’s just happened is Steve’s fault. Tony can feel anger starting to take hold, stemming from his hunger to be scorned. If Steve would just cast him aside, yell,  _ something...  _ It would be better than this. This surely can’t be right. “It’s not your fault,” Tony growls back. “You didn’t make me do anything.”

“We could have found another way down-”

“I  _ told _ you it was fine!” Exasperated, the inventor puts his head in his hands. He can’t bear this, can’t bear to look at Steve’s kind eyes. The soldier must be in agony, but he’s got no concern for himself. It’s infuriating. Tony sits there with his face shielded by his hands, trying to hold it in.

“Tony...” Steve’s voice softly penetrates his spiraling thoughts. “Tony, are you okay?”

He’s most definitely not. He feels like he’s going to have another panic attack, because his whole body is trembling, and he can’t move.

“Tony, look at me.” Captain America’s cool order takes control of his body, and he looks over. There’s fear in Steve’s eyes, but for what he’s not sure. It can’t be for Tony. Then what? “I need you to take some deep breaths.” Steve’s trembling himself, his eyes holding a revelation privy only to himself. Whatever it is, he’s giving Tony priority.

Tony tries, but it’s tough. This mission has gone to shit, and it’s his fault. Steve should be angry for what’s happened. Their lives were pointlessly put at risk, all because Tony’s too weak to handle his own emotions.

“ _ Tony, _ please...” the plea loses its strength, and it sounds panicked.  _ That’s _ enough to bring Tony back to himself, to weave focus through his unravelling control and hold him together. Steve’s breathing has picked up again, and he’s panting, a thin sheen of sweat glowing on his forehead. 

“What?” Tony whispers. “What’s wrong? Shit, I’m sorry...” His panicking has set Steve off. “Let me get you some water. Food? Are you-”

“Tony,” Steve gasps. “Stop. Just stop.”

He stops, taking those deep breaths and calming himself. This isn’t about him, it’s about Steve. He doesn’t hesitate to reach out with steadying hands again, placing one across the soldier’s forehead, and the other on his chest. He can feel a rapid pulse through his palm. They both settle in silence, and Steve finally licks his lips and voices a quiet, shaky admission.

“I can’t feel my legs. Or my arms. Or... anything.”

_ Shit.  _ Tony stares. He begs that it’s not true, but it has to be: Steve’s hasn’t moved at all, hasn’t shifted or twitched his entire body except for his head. The inventor swallows, fighting to remain calm for the soldier’s sake as he shuffles down to his legs and folds off the blanket. He unlaces Steve’s boot and slides it and the sock off. Then he drags his nail up the soft skin of his arch, and pinches a toe. “You can’t feel that?”

“No,” Steve whispers.

“Or this?” Tony shakily moves his hands, squeezing up Steve’s calf, gently pinching up his chest and down his arm. Nothing. “ _ Fuck. _ Fuck, Steve... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry... shit-” He stops, because he remembers he’s supposed to be calm. Steve’s opening his mouth to cut him off anyway, but he freezes instead and winces, pushing a soft whine through his lips.

Tony finds his calm. He finds the strength to get control and reaches out with steady hands and a determined jaw. He wipes the sweat off Steve’s forehead with his hand before clasping it. Maybe this is entirely inappropriate, that he’s stroking the Captain’s soft hair. But Steve seems to like it, and he’s calming down, catching his breath, fighting the pain with incredible resolve. It has to be agonizing. They hang there together as the wave passes.

Steve’s eyes are misty with tears, but he’s coming back to himself, breathing deeply again. He looks up and makes unwavering eye-contact. “Not your fault,” he promises. “Tony, it’s not your fault.”

“It fucking is,” he can’t help himself.

“It’s not. It’ll heal. Serum will fix it,” Steve smiles at him, and it’s so disarming that he considers giving up the fight. There’s no way he can win against a smile like that.

“I’m still sorry. Steve  _ please _ , you need to let me be sorry.” He’s broken Steve’s neck, how can he not be sorry?

“Then you have to let me be sorry for making you climb down the elevator shaft,” Steve reasons.

“You push a hard bargain, Rogers,” Tony sighs in defeat. They could be here for hours, apologizing to each other. It won’t fix a thing. It won’t fix Steve’s neck. “Fine, have it your way.” He gives up gently.

They leave the argument at that. Steve is breathing normally again, though he’s still shivering and shaken. He’s holding together though, which is astounding. Tony finds some strength in it for himself; surely if Steve can cope with this, then the inventor can handle his own anxieties.

“I tried to boot up the suit and call SHIELD, but it’s out of power,” Tony explains as he flattens Steve’s legs and pulls the canteen from the bag. He tries to be normal and casual, figuring the soldier would prefer that. The mission must go on, one way or another. Either they take down the turrets and use the beacon to hail SHIELD, or call them some other way to let them know about the danger. One thing’s for certain, Tony can’t disable the turrets on his own. It’s unlikely he could get through all five without being caught.

He produces a banana and sets it beside the canteen before moving as carefully as he can to get Steve sitting against his chest, head safely resting on his shoulder. There’s no helping the small hiss of pain the movement elicits. On the plus side, the soldier can’t feel his beat-up ribs or his busted arm.

“How long till you, uh, reboot?” Tony asks, reaching around for the water and screwing off the top. He puts the rim to Steve’s lips and lets him drink, slowly.

Steve swallows and frowns. “Not sure... Couple of days?”

Can they spend a couple of days in this cave while Steve’s legs come back online? Is that a risk they can afford? Is it the best they can do?

“Good thing your  head’s still wired up,” Tony takes a sip of water and puts it down, exchanging it for the banana. He peels it and sets it to Steve’s lips. “You’re the man with a plan. What do we do?”

Steve takes a bite and murmurs a thank-you, contemplating as he eats. He swallows. “Wait, I guess.”

Even if Steve’s nerves regenerate in a couple of days, how well will he be able to move? Fight? Tony glances at the suit. He needs a power source. 

And he knows just where to get one. There’s no way they can risk waiting around in the cave for so long. They need to call for help, because Tony can’t do this alone, and Steve’s not going to be in any shape for a fight for a while. He knows what he has to do.

“This is  kinda nice.”

Tony looks down, and Steve’s looking up at him with a soft smile on his lips. He’s still a bit pale, but there’s a contented glow in his cheeks. Tony can’t help but blush, tightening his grip around Steve’s solid chest. The soldier can’t feel it, but maybe it’s comforting anyway. “Okay, you definitely messed up your head.” But he can’t help smiling warmly back.

Steve chuckles and shuts his eyes. Though sore, he looks comfortable, and happy.  _ Wacko.  _ Tony actually doesn’t mind this either. He just wishes it were more of a friendly gesture rather than a necessity, that Steve had laid back against him willingly instead of needing to be physically propped up because he’s incapable of moving himself.

The moment can’t last anyway. Tony reckons he’s best off exacting his plan in the dark, and daylight is quickly fading. He wishes he could sit here longer as he pushes Steve’s warm and comforting weight off his chest. “Get some rest,” he starts, licking his lips nervously. He knows the soldier won’t approve of this, so maybe he can get him settled as much as possible before the other man catches on and starts to protest. Regret squeezes his heart as he imagines Steve alone in this cave, stuck on his back staring at the ceiling. If he had a straw, he’d set the soldier up with a drink to keep him busy.

“What about you?” Steve asks.

“You kept watch last night,” Tony shrugs. “Looks like you’ll get your sleep after all.” He grabs both backpacks and does his best to prop Steve upright somewhat, pushing the pillow under his knees. He kneels to get the soldier’s sock and boot back on his foot, but keeps the laces loose. Steve watches him in the dying light, a sad frown of disappointment on his face.

Tony picks up the other blanket and adds it to the first. He nearly asks if this is warm enough, but supposes Steve can’t really tell. Instead, he wraps his hand around his unhurt wrist. The skin is a little cold to the touch, so he tucks the blankets around the soldier’s body with worrying hands.  _ This is all my fault. But I can fix it. I’ll fix it, Steve. I promise. _

“You want the light on?” he asks quietly.

“Where you goin’?” Steve’s glancing at the blankets, ignoring the question.

Tony worries his lip and brings the lamp closer, turning down the brightness so it’s not so vibrant. He hopes Steve will sleep, but he doubts it. For a moment, he considers waiting until the soldier is out before leaving, but that would be cruel: what if Steve wakes up and finds himself alone? Knowing him, he’s  worry for Tony. He’s going to worry anyway, but at least he’ll know the inventor hasn’t vanished into the night. Tony has to be honest. At least Steve can’t physically stop him. “There’s something I need to get.” He stands up and puts on his bullet-proof vest, zipping his waterproof coveralls on overtop for extra warmth. They’re actually very comfortable.

“Tony, you’re not.” Steve’s expression twists predictably into something disbelieving and demanding.

“Either those turrets come down, or I give SHIELD a phone call,” Tony shakes his head, strapping his gun to his hip. “And I can’t take all five by myself without the suit. You can’t hang around here for a few days while your magic potion wires you back up. Best bet is to power up the suit, call for help, and get you flown the fuck out of here.” Surely the Captain can’t argue with that plan. It’s solid, he’s thought it through, and there aren’t any better options.

Steve knows it, but he doesn’t like it.  Of course he doesn’t. The soldier stares up at him, and sighs in defeat. There’s nothing he can do, to either restrain Tony, or argue him out of  this. Frankly, he looks exhausted. “Be careful,” he resigns with an earnest tone.

“You too,” Tony replies, and he means no joke by it. “Don’t move your head, try to get some sleep. You... you okay?” It seems a fucking ridiculous question to ask a paralyzed man.

Steve gives him a smile and upturned eyebrows. “Yeah, I’ll be... I’ll be fine.”

“Thought so,” the inventor flashes a dashing smile in return. “Sit tight cupcake. Be back before you know it.”

\--

He’s going to break back into the warehouse and steal some alien crystals. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to snag some jump leads while he’s at it. Maybe a couple extra sizes of screwdriver. A battery would be ideal, but he can’t lug one big enough back to the cave. Those alien crystals are small and light, so he can carry them easily.

And this time, he won’t panic.  _ Nothing _ is going to break him. He has Captain America waiting for him in a goddamn cave, depending on him. Tony thinks of Steve’s inviting smile, and holds it close to his heart. If he can keep himself calm and determined from the get-go, it’ll be easier to keep himself from sliding. Steve’s voice rings in his ears, and he makes it his lighthouse.

_ You’ll be home in no time, all fixed up,  _ Tony jogs through the forest. The air is fresh and clear from the rainstorm, and the ground is dried enough that he can run without the worry of slipping on mud. Already, he’s forming his plan. His memory might not be perfect like Steve’s, but it’s still photographic, and he can remember what they’ve explored of the facility extremely well. Before the panic attacks, of course. After that is a blur.

It takes a much shorter time than the last trip here, or so it feels, to reach the facility. The place is surrounded by men toting machine guns, and huge lights pan around the nearby forest. They’re looking for Iron Man, though Tony knows they’ll likely expect him to fly in from above. There are plenty of lights pointed up there, too. They don’t know that Iron Man crashed and is still stuck on the island.

Tony crouches behind a tree to do some recon, sharp eyes tracking the movements of everyone and everything from the safety of the shadows. He may not be a spy, but he’s smart. This will be a piece of cake.

Confidence is the key to these things, right? Or maybe it’s wariness. Tony takes some deep breaths and keeps patiently watching the men moving around the perimeter of the complex. They hover by the nearest turret, setting up weapons. There are some boxes and tables set up around the area, which Tony suspects contain more weapons and supplies; they’re preparing for Iron Man’s return.  _ Oh, I’ll return alright. _

Maybe he doesn’t have to get back inside at all. It looks like everything he needs is right here. A man opens one of the crates and pulls out a modified rocket launcher of some sort, dotted with  Chitauri crystals, foreign alloys shining iridescent in the moonlight. Tony creeps through the forest, minding every step, glancing up religiously. He cannot afford to get caught, or make mistakes. If he fucks this up, there’ll be no-one to call SHIELD, and he’ll be stuck here at the mercy of these people until Steve can use his legs. Would he be tortured, killed on the spot, sold to the highest bidder? He likes to think that Tony Stark would be sold on the black market for a hefty price.  _ I’m sure plenty of people would want to get their hands on me. _ And not for good reasons.

Those crates are so close by, stacked up and ready to be opened so the guards can arm themselves. Regular bullets won’t be much good against Iron Man, so why not dip into the resources available? They’re setting up some scanners, too, which require power packs and cables to connect everything. Tony smiles.  _ Too easy. _ Okay, confidence. Not cockiness.  _ Attainable _ _ , how about that.  _

The inventor sneaks a little further, tucking tightly behind a large tree when the search light pans too close for comfort. He’ll take the wires first. Tony licks his lips and watches the guards move about the clearing. Luckily, he’s on the smaller side. Steve might be better-trained, but he’s huge, and Tony would have liked to see him try to stuff himself behind this small pile of crates. So far, so good. He’s perfectly hidden. Just a little farther. All he has to do is creep over while backs are turned, and creep right on back.

Deep breaths. He has to stay calm, and alert. He’s not scared, despite being surrounded by the enemy. If he dies, at least he doesn’t have to face Fury.

_ For Steve.  _ He banishes all thoughts of self-deprecation with more willpower than he’s ever managed to achieve. This isn’t about redeeming himself, it’s about making sure Steve is okay. Tony peers over the crates, and picks his moment.

He’s fast. It only takes seconds to snatch the wires he wants. There’s a whole maze of them linking up the system (and if they just switched these leads around, it would work much better, honestly, animals), so he hopes they won’t notice too quickly that a couple are missing. Tony rolls them up as he stoops and hurries back to his hiding place, stuffing them through the neck of his coveralls and under his vest.

A guard  walks by. Tony makes himself as small as possible, shifting warily into a better-shadowed part of his hiding place. But the man walks by, talking on a headset, and doesn’t notice him.  _ Headsets.  _ Tony glances around again, and spots some resting on another table among other supplies. He smiles and crouches his way over.

_ You’ll have your taste of Iron Man eventually, don’t you worry, _ Tony takes the headsets off the table and puts them in his pocket. Lastly, he needs one of these guns. It doesn’t matter terribly which, though the more crystal he gets the better. He doesn’t want to have to come back. This back corner of the perimeter is fairly well bypassed by the guards. They’re mostly lingering near the turrets, or setting up other supplies. It’s not too difficult for Tony to sneak a little further and kneel by an already-open crate. Some of the guards have started arming themselves, because this box full of assault rifles has a couple missing.

Luckily for him though, this design doesn’t use magazines: no, it uses some kind of melted crystal block jammed in the side to fuel it. It’s a clunky design, but it means he doesn’t have to carry a whole rifle on his person. He can also clearly see how to discharge it. Deft hands reach into the crate and expertly remove the power source, stuffing it into his coveralls.

There, he has everything. Tony high-tails it back to camp as fast as he can, his spirits elevated.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your engagement and feedback! I always enjoy reading what you think :)
> 
> How much you wanna bet that anything goes to plan?

It’s not pleasant to be stuck here alone. The dark is one thing, but trapped in his own body is another.  All together , it’s nerve-wracking. His neck feels like a magnesium sparkler, the kind that go on top of cakes, burning and crackling slowly downward as the nerves heal. 

If something comes, he’s helpless. Steve’s not sure what would find him here, but he doesn’t like that he won’t be able to do anything about it. He doesn’t like not knowing if Tony’s okay, either. It took all his self-restraint not to incredulously demand that the inventor refrain from taking such ludicrous risks, but there’s no helping it. He can’t think of a better plan, and Tony needed support, not scorn.

Steve doesn’t like not being able to help. All he can really do is shut his eyes and try to rest. It’s not easy, because of how vulnerable he feels, but he tries. He’s tired, a sign that the serum is using all available energy to fix him. Maybe if he shuts his eyes, his body will be back in his control when he wakes. Maybe Tony will be back, too.

That would be nice, some company. Steve much prefers to lick his wounds in private, but just this once he’d like not to be alone. It’s been a long time since he’s spent time with anyone like this. Being so close to Tony felt like rediscovering what it was like to be alive.

It feels wrong to sleep, like he should be waiting up because it’s the best he can do to be useful, but he knows he needs to rest. So he does, shutting his eyes and forcing his thoughts away.

He’s not sure how long he sleeps for, but when he wakes it’s still dark, and the cave is still empty. A dream had been starting to drag him away, but pain has woken him. It’s gotten so much worse, chewing on his neck and spreading in all directions from there. The headache is the worst, reducing his thoughts to jelly. He can’t move, can’t find a better position, or get himself some water. He can’t squirm or brace his head with his hands. All he can do is try to breathe as deeply as possible.

It feels like an age before the wave starts to ebb, and he’s left panting and damp with sweat. Steve fights to move his arm, but he gets nothing. It doesn’t move off his chest, completely still beneath the blankets.

He tries to fall asleep again, but his thoughts drift. They drift to Tony, and how terrible the inventor feels about all this. Steve feels terrible too: he should have seen right away that climbing down that elevator shaft would be triggering. He sighs. If Tony pulls this off, and can fix Iron Man, then  steve will be in a SHIELD hospital soon. Alone. He prefers a cave and Tony to the clinical, professional detachment of doctors. They’ll tell him how long it’ll be until he heals, crunching the numbers and rendering diagnostics. He knows how well the serum works, better than they do. They understand the  sceince better than he does, but it’s _ his _ body. He never feels more like a test subject than when he’s in a hospital, being marveled at by whoever’s in charge of putting him back together this time. Luckily, there isn’t usually that much putting-back needed. The serum often keeps him out of long-term care, or any care at all, though ironically it also gets him into these situations to begin with. Steve knows that SHIELD sometimes throws him where don’t want to risk the lives of other agents. He’s gone into missions knowing full well he might be staggering back out again.

But he always  _ does _ stagger out, only to rush right back in again when he’s mended, and Fury has another task for him. Tony’s right: he’s a dog playing an endless game of fetch, eating out of Fury’s hand.

The pain is ramping up again, the tingle reaching a little further down his spine. He’s starting to feel his cracked ribs now, the ones highest up his back. They won’t take long to heal, comparatively, but they’ll hurt. Ribs always do, and there’s not much he can do for them. In terms of pain, at least. He hopes Tony comes back, because even though they clash, he knows the inventor’s rambling will distract him.

His arms are tingling,  _ burning, _ and he chokes out a laugh wet with tears. In the lamplight, he can see his shoulder shifting under the blankets. It’s agony, but it’s coming back. The serum will fix this, just like it always does.

Boots crunch outside, and a shadow falls across the entrance. Steve’s heart leaps, but it’s just Tony. The inventor slips inside the cavern, and the soldier looks him up and down. His coveralls are clean, and he looks unhurt. “Tony,” he croaks, struggling to move whatever of his body that he can in an attempt to get a better look at his companion.

“Hey,” Tony comes right over, falling to his knees and steadying him with gentle hands. “Easy  there champ. Mission accomplished.” He smiles, and it’s charming, full of pride and relief.

“You got the stuff?” Steve watches the inventor take off his coveralls and pull the things he’s stolen out of his vest. 

“Piece of cake,” Tony grins. “Good nap?”

“Not really,” Steve admits, swallowing. He’s not one to announce his suffering, but he can’t help letting on that it hurts. Not now that Tony’s here. “You okay?” He has to check first, before he tries to ask for any favors.

“Yup,” Tony confirms, turning from side to side so Steve can see for himself. “In and out like a ghost. Romanoff would be proud. Here, I’ll get you some water.”

Water would be great; his tongue and throat are dry from panting. Tony puts the canteen to his lips and helps him drink steadily, until he’s satisfied. They’ve brought plenty, and there’s a river nearby if they need to refill.

“Feelin’ any better?” Tony asks, his project forgotten. All his focus is on the soldier, and his eyes are warm with concern.

“Fine,” Steve replies. He’s not. It hurts, more and more with every passing minute. The wave just builds and builds, with no sign of stopping. “You uh,  gonna fix the suit?” He doesn’t want Tony to know how badly it hurts, because the inventor is suffering from enough guilt already.

Tony eyes him suspiciously, but doesn’t push. Instead, he drags over his supplies and takes a seat, laying out what he’s collected. He picks up the helmet sans faceplate, and sticks his hand into the shell to fiddle with something. There quickly comes a point where Steve can’t hold it in anymore, and breathes a very telling sigh of pain.

The helmet is quickly abandoned, and Tony reaches out. The touch is very welcome, warm and supportive on his burning forehead and tingling shoulder. “What can I do?” the inventor asks quietly.

Nothing can be done. Whatever’s in the first-aid for pain won’t help. “Just talk,” Steve blurts. “Just... tell me what you’re  doin ’. Talk me through it.” More than anything, his fizzing brain wants to hear Tony’s rambling.

Tony obliges without hesitation, but stays close, almost right over top of him. His eyes are filled with determination and purpose as he picks the helmet up again and shows Steve the inside workings. The soldier has no clue what he’s looking at, but it’s interesting. “I’m  gonna feed their comm system through mine,” he explains, as if it’s as simple as boiling an egg. It probably is for him. “I’ll send a current through the suit from the crystal, and hopefully that’ll jumpstart it.”

That makes sense. Tony keeps going, detailing his progress as he works, and eventually the pain fades away. It’s still nagging, but fascination for what’s unfolding in front of him pushes it aside. Steve watches intently, unwilling to miss a single word of what the inventor says.

It’s late morning now, bright golden light shining through the cavern entrance. Tony set down the helmet and screwdrivers, and reaches for the backpacks stuffed under Steve’s torso. Carefully, he rummages inside the bottom one, and out comes some food and another canteen of water. They stop for a snack break. Or rather, Tony stops. He looks a little weary as he gets settled again and unwraps a protein bar.

“You should get some sleep,” Steve suggests. “You’ve been up for hours.”

“Sooner I fix this the sooner we can go home,” Tony protests easily, opening a second bar. He takes a bite of the first and aims the second at the soldier’s mouth. “Feel anything yet?”

Not enough that he can move, no. Apart from his tingly arms, the only thing he can really do is shift his shoulders a little. “Not really,” he has a thoughtful bite of bar. Tingling is good, it means he’s healing. The serum will fix this, and it won’t be permanent. He’ll be back on his feet before he knows it. “You should really sleep, Tony, come on. You’ve been up all day, and all night.” He uses his Captain’s voice.

Tony sighs and rubs his face, inspecting his protein bar with mild disgust. He pulls the wrapper back over it and scrubs his eyes. “I don’t have to take orders from you.”

“I’m still the Captain. Lay down, go to sleep.”

“You’re hogging all the blankets,” Tony peers at him hopefully.

“ Nothin ’ I can do to stop you  hoggin’em right back,” Steve manages a shrug, and a smile comes easier.

Tony grins back, noticing the movement. He seems encouraged by it, pushing his supplies out of the way so he can come closer. “Are you flirting with me?”

Is he? Steve’s never been all that good at flirting, unless it’s by accident, and even  then he’s still terrible. Or so he’s been told. Sometimes he wonders if he even knows what flirting  _ is _ . “Maybe...?” He feels relaxed, even if the muscles along his back and shoulders are squeezing tightly, and his headache is unrelenting.

“Well, you asked for it,” Tony lifts the edge of the blankets and slides underneath, hesitant at first but gathering confidence when Steve doesn’t protest. “Very well, Rogers, have it your way.”

“Would you really take blankets from an old man?” Steve shuts his eyes, his smile persistent. He can’t feel Tony pressed up against his side, but he’s comforted by the proximity nonetheless.

“Only from this old man,” Tony rolls onto his side and pushes his back into Steve’s side, pillowing his head on his arm. Steve watches him get settled.

“Hey... sit up,” he suggests. “Come sit up on me.” Surely a super-soldier makes a better pillow than cold rock.

Tony rolls over, a pinkness in his cheeks as he moves to get closer still. He pushes up and carefully lifts Steve’s unhurt arm off his stomach, slipping beneath it and putting his head to the soldier’s chest. Steve feels the weight; not as well as he should, but it’s there. Tony wraps the arm around his own waist and tucks the blankets back around them. “You sure this is okay?” he looks comfortable but wary, as if this can’t possibly be acceptable.

Steve smiles at him. “Yeah. Just go to sleep.”

“Wake me if you need something,” Tony orders, shutting his eyes. He’s already fading.

“Okay, Tony,” he agrees obediently. He’ll be fine for a little while. This is actually quite nice. Peaceful and safe, though surprising. Tony does go to sleep, and Steve closes his eyes as well. Maybe he can catch a few more minutes himself.

\--

Steve does manage to drift off, but he doesn’t stay asleep for very long. He manages maybe an hour before the pain kicks into a higher gear than it was already, and holds him hostage. It wakes him cruelly from his peaceful slumber, forcing him awake to suffer through the burning in his arms. His spine throbs, his neck is stiff, and a new tightness in his chest is starting to render it harder to breathe. In his right arm can feel the beginnings of a pain that will only swell as he regains feeling.

Tony is still curled up against his chest, his brown hair shining caramel where the daylight hits it. He’s deeply asleep, and  it’s clear how tense he’s been now that his face is relaxed. Steve doesn’t want to wake him, so he does his best to keep quiet and stuff the pain away.

It’s always harder to keep a grip on his wits when it’s his head that hurts. He can’t overcome everything else, and it builds and builds until he can’t take it anymore.

Some feeling has ebbed through his arms, and he manages to squeeze Tony with the one wrapped around the engineer. It’s difficult, and takes a lot of effort, but he manages. “Tony,” he hisses. “Tony, wake up.” He wishes he didn’t have to, but he needs some water, and the canteen is too far away for him to reach. Even if he could get his arm over to it, would he be able to coordinate enough to get the lid off? Probably not, given how hard it is to nudge the person pressed up against him.

Tony stirs and licks his lips, nuzzling his face into Steve’s shoulder and mumbling something imperceptible before falling still again. Maybe he should give up: the engineer is clearly exhausted, and comfortable. Steve can wait. He doesn’t want to be worried about, and it doesn’t hurt that much-

Yes, it does. A gasp escapes his lips, and his shoulders tense up with a sudden spasm, his arm involuntarily clenching around Tony’s waist. The engineer jolts awake.

“Steve,” he’s moving, rolling out from under the blankets. “Hey, hey what’s wrong?”

“S-sorry,” Steve stammers. “Didn’t  wanna wake you... But I can’t... It hurts.” It’s hard to admit how he feels sometimes. This is the first time he’s been inclined to be honest for a long time. Maybe even before the war. Sometimes it’s easier to forget his hurts if he doesn’t admit they’re there. Sometimes he simply doesn’t want to be a burden. Other times, which is perhaps the most common reason, he simply doesn’t feel as though he’s allowed to speak up. Captain America is too tough to feel pain, too tough to be shackled by it no matter what may befall his body. And before the serum? His body had always been suffering in some way or another, so it was better to just ignore it and go about his life.

“Okay, hang on,” Tony doesn’t waste a second. He grabs the water and takes the top off, holding it up to Steve’s lips. As much as Steve doesn’t want to be a burden, Tony looks so pleased at being given the chance to help that it in turn helps him feel more willing to ask.

“Arms are comin’ back,” Steve pants, wincing. “Oh, god.” Now that he’s decided he can let some of his walls down, there’s no stopping the admission.

“Can you feel that?” Tony throws off the blankets and grabs his hand, giving it a squeeze. Steve can feel the pressure, so he nods. “Squeeze.” Steve tries, but his hand won’t cooperate. It’s as if the command can’t get through, which he supposes is accurate. That’s how nerves work.

“S-sorry,” Steve’s not sure why he feels the need to apologize.

Tony shakes his head and holds the hand to his chest, rubbing his thumbs into Steve’s forearm. “You’re pretty tense, cupcake. I mean, more than usual.” He tries for a joking tone, and for once it’s actually comforting, instead of aggravating.

Steve winces and grits his teeth, watching Tony massage some life into his arm. “S-sorry for that too.” He’s been unnecessarily distant. If he’d been friendly from the get-go, maybe Tony wouldn’t have been as susceptible to the panic attack that had claimed his rational thought. Or maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.

Tony shrugs and looks away, working his hands up the limb. He’s got such deft fingers, delicate but strong at the same time. They’re capable of fixing the tiniest of components. The man is surprisingly muscular, too. Steve’s noticing ripples he didn’t expect beneath the inventor’s black shirt. The massage is helping, even if he can’t feel his arm properly enough to fully enjoy it. His muscles are loosening a little, and that helps with the pain.

“Now seems like a really good time to watch a movie,” Tony admits with a bashful smile, digging his fingers into Steve’s bicep. “You get much downtime?”

“More than I know what to do with,” Steve admits. “Never know what to do with myself.”  _ Other than fight, and work. Which is fighting, usually. _

“I’ll give you some movies to watch,” Tony offers. “You got a DVD player? Or a laptop? I could download some on a USB. Or just get you a tablet. I mean, do you even have wifi?”

It might have annoyed him before, the jabs, but right now it’s charming. Steve smiles. “Yeah, I’ve got  wifi , and a laptop. I have a TV, too.” Not that he ever watches anything on it, though.

“Great, I’ll get you some movies. They’d be better on a bigger screen, so I could get you an HDMI cable, if you want. You could watch them on your TV. How big is it? Fifty-inch?”

“Forty-two,” Steve frowns. “I think. Don’t really use it. It was there when I moved into the apartment.”

“Well, you’ll use it for Star Wars,” Tony announces. He sets Steve’s left arm down and crawls over to the other side, picking up the right to massage it as well. This one he’s a lot gentler with, carefully resting Steve’s splinted wrist against his shoulder and going to work higher up. “I mean, I’ve got a bigger TV at my place, if you want the proper experience.”

“Invitin’ me over?” Steve raises an eyebrow, though he’s not objecting.

Tony shrugs and keeps massaging, losing some of his smoothness as he looks away. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You’re just  doin ’ it  cus you feel bad,” Steve smirks, unable to resist. He has to admit he feels a bit loopy, too loopy to worry about staying professional and detached. The pain has removed his ability to think rationally, and how that it’s winding down under Tony’s ministrations, he can actually manage words and thought. None of them have to do with the mission.

“ So I still feel bad,” Tony shrugs dismissively. “If a guy saves your life and gets hurt for it, you  _ should _ feel bad. But maybe you’re not as stuck-up as I thought, and I’d like to be friends.”

That’s a nice thought. Steve can’t help but smile at that, and it’s a wide one full of cherry-red pleasure. “I’d like that.”

Tony seems a bit shocked by that, and looks away again, rubbing a bit more vigorously. 

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” Steve pipes up quietly. “I made my choice.”

“Yeah, like letting me fall to my death was an option for you,” Tony scoffs.

“Still made the choice,” Steve rebuffs.

“You shouldn’t have had to.” Tony’s determined to take the blame on himself.

“It happened,” the soldier calmly replies. “If I’d let you fall, I’d have had to live with that. The serum can protect me, Tony. I’ll be good as new before you know it.”

“It’s still my fault this happened,” Tony keeps massaging, focusing intently on it. He’s starting to shiver. “If you’d severed the nerves just a little higher... You could have died. And I put you in that position.” He’s right about that: they’re lucky the connection to his lungs hadn’t been cut, too. The serum is tough, but there’s no way Tony could have kept up CPR long enough for his magic potion to heal the soldier enough to breathe on his own. They’ve gotten lucky, as much as this situation can be described as ‘lucky’ to begin with. Then again, everything is relative.

“Tony...” Steve sighs. He doesn’t know what to say. Words alone don’t fix problem. Even if he knew exactly the right thing to say, it won’t cure the inventor of his need to be responsible and bring himself down. But maybe Steve is contributing to the problem too. Maybe he shouldn’t be apologizing so much either, and accept those given to him. He can’t condemn the inventor for his mistakes, though. He won’t. It wouldn’t be fair. Panic attacks don’t come down to fault. Few things do, especially not trauma that’s caused damage to someone. Nobody chooses to endure that.

The best Steve can do is offer his thoughts, and hope it helps. “Tony, whatever happened in the warehouse isn’t your fault. It happened, and it was a mistake, but it’s not your  _ fault. _ If we’re  gonna be friends, then... then you can be honest with me, if you want. If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

Tony licks his lips and keeps massaging, focusing his energy on this task as if his sanity depends on it. Maybe it does. He doesn’t answer.

Steve has no right to Tony’s business, but he has an obligation to offer his aid and friendship and care. “I still dream about the ice,” he admits quietly. “I don’t think I’ve slept through a night since waking up. No matter what I do, it won’t go away, and sometimes I feel like giving up.” Captain America can be human today, just for today. Tony glances up, but doesn’t comment. Steve continues, desperate to provide some connection. He wants it in return, too, because Tony is like him in the sense that he’s not like  _ anybody. _ There aren’t support groups and websites for people like them. PTSD doesn’t entirely cover it. Steve’s been removed from his time by several decades. He’s died and come back to a new world. There’s nobody in the world suffering the way he is. Tony’s endured one-of-a-kind experiences too. That’s got to be alienating, especially if he feels as severed from emotions as Steve’s been conditioned to be.

“When we get back, I’d like to watch those movies,” Steve smiles. “You can show me whatever you want. I don’t have anybody to watch them with, and I’ve heard they’re more enjoyable with a friend.”

“House is a bit empty these days,” Tony admits reluctantly. “Pepper left.” He sniffs and rubs his nose, then dives right back into  massaging Steve’s shoulder with deliberate vigor.

Steve doesn’t know much about Tony’s private life, but was the under the impression the two were an item, as people put it these days. He frowns sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

“Deserved it,” Tony shrugs. “After New York she just couldn’t handle it. Don’t blame her. I’m tough to live with. Nightmares, always in the workshop, more focused on my projects than a relationship... Not the first time I scared her, anyway. She deserves better.”

There’s a lot to unpack, but it’s not Steve’s job, and maybe Tony doesn’t want a therapy  sessions .  So Steve offers his companionship instead, summoning all the strength he can to lift his left arm and pat the nearest part of Tony he can reach, his hip. No wonder the inventor is so desperate to take the blame, so terrified of himself and the next mistake he’ll make, fearful of who will drop out of his life next while there seems  nothing he can do about it. It must be tough, living in a world where everything feels like your fault, no matter how hard you try to be better. And then for Tony to be stricken down by a panic attack in the middle of a mission, followed by this? Steve’s never felt so desperate to hug someone.

He has to try. He drags his good arm to his side and tries to shove it under himself, but it won’t take his weight. It feels warm and floppy, like it’s not quite part of him. The tingling is no less reduced. He can’t sit up with his core muscles, so he has to try and lift himself up by the shoulders. The second he tries, his back protests, and he has to fall back to the sound of a gasp he can’t contain.

“Let me help you,” Tony halts his massage and urgently steadies him. “I’ll get you some water.”

“No,” Steve grits out sharply, but only because he’s desperate to try and say what he needs to, as if it might be too late and Tony will walk away. “No, Tony, just... come here.”

“...why?”

“Because I want a hug.” There’s no other way to put it, because although he does want one for himself, it’s probably the best way to guarantee the inventor will collect the gesture if he words it as a need of his own rather than an offer.

Tony hesitates for a moment, but then he’s leaning in and carefully gathering Steve in his arms, cradling his head to take the weight off his damaged spine. The pressure and movement disturb his ribs and back, but the warm embrace feels good in other ways, and more than makes up for it. He can’t provide any kind of support in return, but he does manage to get his arm around Tony’s waist.

There, that’s better. More words are spoken in gesture than by the moving of lips, because the body can convey what language cannot. Steve feels all of Tony’s stress and fears and concern through this embrace, and in turn probably demonstrates just how much pain he’s in himself. It’s a long hug, full of loneliness and a hint of awkwardness that speaks novels all on its own. This is new and needed, something strangely bold for the age of their relationship, but it feels wholesome and craved, and they both come out of it feeling slightly better. Tony’s smiling a little, rubbing at his eyes while trying to pretend they’re only itchy. Steve is tenderly lowered by the inventor’s mindful hands, and settles back down. He doesn’t do a damn thing to hide how sore he is, nor how much he needed that touch.

“Thanks.” Tony’s looking down at him, bravely summoning a heart-felt and truly grateful admittance. He takes the gesture for what it is, and for once there’s not a taste of self-loathing in his tone. He’s truly grateful, whether for the hug or the words, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not trying to apologize or insist on being wrong and responsible for everything.

“You’re welcome,” Steve replies. “Thank you, too.”

“You look a lot better, Cap,” the inventor remarks.

“Massage helped,” Steve smiles.  _ You look a lot better, too.  _ He watches curiously as Tony comes back round to his left and drags over his supplies again. They still need to contact SHIELD. And now that they’ve decided to spend time together after this, he feels less reluctant about the time he’s bound to spend in a hospital.

“Here,” Tony helps him get his hand around the helmet. “Hold this.”

Steve does his best, keeping his palm firmly in place so that Tony can clip the wires inside the shell. He’s got the  Chitauri crystal resting in Iron Man’s gauntlet and is attaching the leads. The playful glint in his eyes reminds Steve of Howard, and how much the older Stark loved to make things. He’d always been happiest when he was building and inventing and creating. As far as he can tell, Tony’s inherited that ten-fold. And Steve can’t get enough of watching it. 

“Work for me, baby,” Tony attaches the last wire, and completes the circuit. They watch in silence as the helmet sits inert in Steve’s lap. Nothing happens, until after a few moments. Then the lights flicker and glow blue, and Tony grins. “I’m a  _ genius. _ "

Steve won’t argue with that. “It worked.”

“Course it did,” Tony beams, picking up the earpieces he’s brought. He pushes one into his own ear, then carefully puts the other into Steve’s. “Figured you’d want in,” he mentions, then picks up the helmet. “Wakey  wakey JARVIS, you home?”

“I am always home,” the AI responds, his voice coming clearly through the borrowed comm. Finally, something has worked in their favor. Steve has to admit that even if he hadn’t been hurt so badly, it wouldn’t have been a bad idea to bring Iron Man just in case. The option to be totally bullet-proof is always nice to have.

Tony flashes Steve a bright, wide grin. “J, I need you to patch me through to SHIELD.”

There’s a pause, and they wait in anticipation for a reply, to hear Fury’s or Hill’s voice. But they don’t. JARVIS is back. “Sir, there appears to be some sort of... interference which I cannot penetrate,” the AI explains. “It is blocking all incoming and outgoing signals. I will not be able to contact SHIELD, or anyone else for that matter.”

The hopefulness shatters, and they both stare at each other in silence, lost for a moment while they contemplate what this means for the mission.

“I will attempt to break through,” JARVIS explains, “but unless you can connect me directly with the system, I cannot force a signal through the barrier. You must remove the obstacle yourself, or find some way of transmitting me into their system.”

That means they need to go back to the facility. Tony sets the helmet on the ground, lost for a moment. Options are becoming increasingly sparse. But the inventor straightens suddenly, and Steve peers curiously at him, fearful of what is about to come out of his companion’s mouth. He’s still not able to stop the man from leaving and doing something stupid, still too weak even to use his arms.

“Looks like we’ll need to make a third trip up there,” Tony stands up.

“Tony-” Steve starts. They can’t push their luck a third time. What if this time things go  _ properly _ wrong, and Tony gets himself killed or captured? They’re best to wait until Steve can help, can at least walk-

“You’re  gonna wear the suit,” Tony explains. “We’ll take down the turrets, and you’ll wear the suit. We’ll wait till you can use your arms, then we’ll go. You can keep them distracted, and I’ll disable the canons. Then we’ll call SHIELD and hang on till then.”

Now that’s a plan. Not an ideal one, but these situations rarely are. That’s sort of the point. “Will it fit?” Steve can’t help but question that little detail, glancing at Tony’s smaller frame.

“Course it will,” Tony scoffs. “Genius, remember? It’ll fit.”

Steve smiles back. They aren’t out of options.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated <3

The suit needs a lot of work. Tony knows he can get it on Steve, but for it to function it’ll need tweaking. A  _ lot _ of tweaking. It wasn’t even working properly before this mission started. How stupid does a person need to be to bring unfinished equipment to a mission it doesn’t belong on in the first place?

But, as Steve’s said, it’s happened now. All he can do is make the best of it.

They can’t leave until Steve can at least use his arms, but Tony needs time to fix Iron Man anyway. JARVIS is back though, which means he’s got an extra hand on deck. Too bad the AI doesn’t have access to the internet with that signal block up, and he doesn’t have anything stored in his databanks that might help Steve recover in the meantime. Steve seems to like the conversation, though, and listens intently to whatever Tony tells him. It’s enjoyable for Tony too, to have someone genuinely interested in his rambling. He wonders if Steve just wants the distraction from his suffering (he’s gone rather white and shivery), but even in his persistent state of self-loathing he can’t deny the interest in the soldier’s eyes.

It’s much the same feeling he got in the cave in Afghanistan, when he realized he had options, and started working toward the goal of freedom. Only this time, his companion is a mostly-paralyzed hundred-year-old super-soldier, and Tony’s almost forgot the age part, because Steve looks so young without his deep frown embroidering a stern mask into ins handsome features. His hair looks softer, his eyes bluer, his lips pinker, and his cheeks rounder. That’s because he’s smiling, watching with interest as Tony tests Iron Man. The soldier asks good questions, too. Intelligent, curious ones. The kind that make Tony want to ramble until the world ends. He’s often been hesitant to allow people into his workshop when the opportunity has arisen, one of the reasons being that he hates persistent questions. What’s that? How does that work? How about this? Questions alone those lines. He hates touching, too, which isn’t exactly a problem here given that Steve can barely keep his grip around the water bottle in his lap, but the soldier doesn’t strike him as the sort of person to put his fingers where they aren’t welcome.

Tony’s never felt like more of a genius in his life as takes a stance inside this cave, Steve’s eyes on him as he gestures his arm at the pile of metal in front of him. Iron Man wobbles, and the right gauntlet soars for him. He angles his hand into it so the plates can seal around it and claw up his forearm. Next comes a boot, and he twists at the hip to catch it as it launches itself at him. The other boot is soon to follow, and he quickly rotates to meet it. Smack, another piece wraps around his thigh and locks into place, then the other gauntlet. That’s as far as he gets though, because the chest plate smacks him so fast it knocks him back, and the whole thing falls apart as he sprawls on his back.

“Tony!” Steve must not be able to help himself, because he’s struggling to move as much as he’s able, propping himself up and wearing a concerned frown that completely overshadows the pain beneath.

“I’m okay,” Tony groans and tugs off the gauntlet that wasn’t thrown off. He sits and rubs his head, kicking aside a fragment of armor and coming closer. “Just another day in the shop...” Honestly, this isn’t the first time he’s been flung around by his own inventions. “Flew myself into the wall the first time I tried to fly with Iron Man. It’s a hoot. You have the tapes J, right?”

“Every second of it is recorded,” JARVIS calmly agrees, his voice feeding from the suit to the earpieces both men wear.

“I think I’ll pass,” Steve chuckles, relaxing as he realizes Tony’s alright.

“How’s the reboot coming?” Tony asks, taking the water as Steve shakily offers it. The soldier shrugs, sadly apologetic as if it’s somehow his fault he can’t heal any faster. Frankly, it’s astonishing how far he’s already healed in this short amount of time. He’s been having an increasingly difficult time taking deep breaths as his ribs plague him worse and worse, and the tingling persists. Tony would much rather leave the man behind where he’ll be safe, but he knows he can’t do this alone. Even if the engineer wears the suit, Steve won’t be able to walk. At least in the suit, the soldier can help JARVIS pilot it. J can do a pretty good job on his own, but with a human inside, even a half-functioning one, the AI can do much better.

The day is coming to a close, daylight fading outside. Neither of them appears to have sleep on their agenda for the next few hours: Tony has work to do, and Steve’s only release so far has been the distraction of his narrated tinkering with Iron Man. The inventor turns up the brightness on the lamp and leans over to reach a piece of armor. He lines it up with Steve’s shin, inspecting the positioning of the connection points. It’ll fit. It might be a bit tight, but there will be room. The suit can adjust within a range of parameters. Tony had always built it with the capability to fit someone other than him. Of course, he hadn’t foreseen someone of Steve’s height and girth to be a candidate, but it’ll work.

To his surprise, after another hour of work, Steve goes quiet. Conversation has died, and Tony hasn’t heard a question in a while. He’s relieved to see that the soldier’s eyes are closed when he looks over. Steve head is tipped slightly sideways, and his mouth hangs open a little. He’s breathing deeply, almost snoring, and his arm is sliding gradually off his belly. The canteen in his hand is slipping loose. Tony reaches over and plucks it free, twisting on the lid and putting it aside. Then he sets Steve’s arm back in his lap and draws up the blankets. By morning he suspects the soldier’s nerves will have healed enough, which means they’ll be leaving this cave.

Tony has forgotten about the cave. He’s been so distracted himself, genuinely enjoying Steve’s company. He feels oddly tender as he surveys the soldier’s handsome face, so much so that he’s inclined to take it in his hands and gently set his head straight. More than that, he lingers.

In that moment he vows to do what he can even when this mission is over. They don’t have to go their separate ways straight away. Perhaps Steve will be willing to spend more time with him, and they can have conversations like these in a coffee shop, somewhere normal.

While Steve sleep, Tony works. He tests and tests and fixes and mends, until he finally gets where he wants to be. Iron Man is properly assembling around his body at his command. He beckons for it, and it flies to him. The suit is a little scraped up from its adventures, but it’s still shiny and whole, locking together neatly. The faceplate flies in last, and he stands there in victory. They’re ready.

There are a few hours of nighttime left. The suit opens up and Tony steps out, walking to Steve’s side. This time he doesn’t hesitate to crawl under the blankets and get in close, wrapping the soldier’s left arm around himself again and using his shoulder as a pillow. Steve sighs in his sleep and squeezes the inventor tightly, dropping his head to the side and resting his cheek on Tony’s hair. Tony doesn’t struggle to fall asleep, and he doesn’t dream. There’s nothing in his head strong enough to beat the security he feels in this moment.

\--

Steve’s got most of the dexterity back in his arms. He can squeeze Tony’s hand with both of his, and his broken wrist is healed enough that he can roll it without too much pain. The bruises are almost gone. His ribs, too, look much better, though they still clearly ache.

True to the legends, though, Captain America is tough. Tony’s never seen anything like it, the determination and speed of healing alike. 

“You sure about this?” Tony looks up amidst fitting Iron Man around Steve’s legs one piece at a time. JARVIS is adjusting the fittings as best he can as the inventor puts each plate in place by hand.

“Too late to go back. We can’t wait around much longer,” Steve replies. He looks antsy, pushing himself up on his arms and watching his companion work. “I can’t think of a better plan anyway.”

Are they really going with Tony’s plan, raw? The inventor smiles and adjusts the armor, walking around while JARVIS locks it into  place. “The man with a plan, deferring to me. Fury will think you have brain damage when I tell him.”

Steve wraps his arm around Tony’s shoulders as it’s offered, wincing at the movement. “Yeah, well, there are people who would say my head was never screwed on right to begin with.”

“That I can believe,” Tony agrees, wrapping one hand around Steve’s back and pressing the other into his abs (poor him, the things he has to deal with). “On three? Give us a hand, J.”

What parts of Iron Man are locked around Steve’s legs whir and shift. In three, the team push Steve to his feet. Steve blows out an agonized breath, further paled and leaning heavily on Tony’s shoulders since he can’t stay upright himself.

“Okay up there, champ?” Tony prays the soldier doesn’t need to be sick. That would be a juggling act. He’s forgotten just how tall Steve is...

“Yup, yup,” Steve agrees, catching his breath. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Okay, let’s get you out of this cave and suit you up,” Tony turns toward the exit. All their stuff is already packed up and waiting, where it will stay until they send SHIELD to collect it.

Now that Steve’s off the floor, JARVIS can seal his hips and lower back in the suit, further helping to keep him standing. He still clings to Tony for support though, even as the suit propels him forward. It’s a bit awkward, but JARVIS does a pretty good job of walking Iron Man forward at a slow, almost-natural pace. They slip through the opening, and out into the sunlight.

“Alright, send the rest,” Tony orders, and takes a step back. Through the opening, the rest of the suit sails through. It builds around Steve’s torso, and Tony watches proudly. How can he not be proud?

The faceplate is the last thing on. Steve stands there for a moment before testing it. He moves his arms and twists his torso, while JARVIS keeps him balanced.

“Well, what do you think?” Tony asks, a grin on his face.

“It’s a bit tight,” Steve admits. “But it’s... wow. How do you keep track of all this stuff?”

Oh, the HUD. Tony doesn’t really think about how much data constantly streams through it right in his face. “J, filter the display, would you? Just the essentials.”

There’s a pause. “Better,” Steve nods his head.

“J, don’t let him move his head.” The helmet locks in place almost instantly.

“Hey!”

“What! You’re lucky I don’t just leave you in this cave and do it myself,” Tony protests with a grin. “If you mess your neck up even more, your SHIELD pals will kill me.”

“No, they won’t,” Steve assures. “I promise. Besides, they don’t need to know. It was an accident. Can you get this helmet off me? I presume we’re walking...”

Fine. Tony sighs. “J, Cap’s got full access to the system. Do what he  tells you.”

“Of course, sir.” The helmet comes loose, and Steve pulls it off, tucking it under his arm.

He looks pink and impressed, still admiring his gold-and-red-plated body. “Wow,” he restates.

Tony’s cheeks flambé with pleasure. “Wait till you take it for a spin. You’ll be a natural.” It might be tough to steer without his core, but J will help the soldier fly. It’ll work. “Looks good on you.”

“It’s not really my style,” Steve smiles, but he’s still looking down on feet.

“Well, if you don’t heal up properly, I’ll build you some new legs,” Tony reassures. That earns him a delicious frown. He smirks and zips up his bullet-proof vest, checking to make sure his gun and extra clips are sheathed. “Come on, Iron Man, let’s go for a stroll.”

Steve looks a little apprehensive, staring down at his legs. JARVIS takes over, walking the suit forward very slowly. Tony leads, walking backward through the forest and watching closely as the soldier gets the hang of the rhythm and the sensation of half his body moving on its own. Finally, he settles, letting his arm go loose at his side while the other holds the helmet. Tony spins around, and JARVIS matches the inventor’s pace. Together, they stroll off through the forest.

They fall into silence before it comes time to climb the cliff they’d been following. Steve turns to Tony and holds out his hand. “I suppose I should test this thing out, huh?”

“If you want,” Tony shrugs, and slides closer. Steve smiles and slides the helmet onto his head. It seals around it, and he holds out his arms. It feels a bit odd to climb into the grasp of the very thing he usually  wear , but Steve’s warmth still somehow bleeds through the cold steel. One arm goes around his waist, and the other reaches out to stabilize. Tony wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, and they jet up the cliff.

Steve is very gentle with his body, even with his enhanced strength sealed within an alloy shell. They land gracefully in the grass, and the soldier sets him carefully down.

“That’s a bit easier than climbing,” Steve pulls off the helmet again. “That was fun. No wonder you fly around in this all the time.”

“When this is over you can test it out whenever you want,” Tony shrugs, and suddenly he has this picture in his head of the two of them flying over New York city at night, lights far below, and stars high above, nothing but the two of them – he has another idea. The second communications to the outside world are back online, he knows what to do.

It would be great if they could chat during this pleasant walk through the forest, but they need to finalize their plan. Steve’s taking charge now, and Tony has to admit he’s glad. Today, he listens, fully intending to obey instructions given.

“Okay, what’s the plan?” Steve’s looking at him with inviting eyes, tall and confident and upright. Commanding. Yet, he’s handing that command over.

“You’re the Star-Spangled Man  With a Plan,” Tony replies. “Your call.”

“Well, right now I’m not star-spangled, and my head hurts,” Steve calmly replies, as if he’s been planning that response. “Besides, your plan has been going pretty well so far. I’m in your suit, your territory.  So shoot.”

It’s not out of pity or mockery that Steve makes the offer, but genuine trust in his abilities. Tony’s not sure what to make of it right now, so he does the best he can: he makes a plan.

“They’re all outside waiting for Iron Man,” Tony explains. “If you fly in, they’ll shoot right away, so you need to be fast. JARVIS can help you steer, and there’s all kinds of weapons loaded into the suit. Do you think you can twist well enough to  maneover ?” The last thing he needs is for Steve to be shot out of the sky. One close call is already too many, and Steve might not get so lucky if it  happens again.

Steve turns from the shoulders with a wince. “Yeah, I’ll manage.” He’s already visibly cramming the pain someplace else, bricking it in with resolve unlike any Tony has ever seen, and removing it from his face. There’s no hiding the stiffness in his movements, or the trouble he has turning his head, but the deep-set agony of his injuries  are rapidly swept under the rug, and he looks... mostly normal. A bit pale, and his face glistens with effort, but he doesn’t look on the verge of collapse. He looks strong.

Tony believes him without argument. “Good. While you keep them busy, I’ll sneak around and disable the canons. Once you’re done blowing up whatever’s blocking outside communication, start blowing up the rest of the turrets. I’ll keep you posted where I am so you don’t accidentally shoot me.” Tony taps the earpiece in his ear. “The turrets should be down before SHIELD gets here, so you can get rid of their above-ground defenses. I’ll try to stay out of the way while you deal with the guns. Then we’ll go in together and try to flush out anybody still inside without damaging the weapons.”

Steve gives a small, stiff nod. “Let’s do it.”

“We taking any hostages?”

“Unless SHIELD specifies when you contact them,” the Captain replies. “But otherwise, no.” His expression hardens. This is HYDRA. This is personal. Is that why Steve doesn’t want to take the reins? Is he worried he won’t be able to remove himself emotionally from the situation and screw this up?

Steve’s been so good to him, so supportive and understanding despite what Tony’s mistakes have led to. It’s Tony’s turn now. He gives a cocky smile, one that has earned him many cheers at expos, and gotten him into bed with countless women. Today it serves to promise Steve he’ll do whatever he can to destroy what should have been eradicated seventy years ago. He doesn’t want Steve to be alone. “Let’s blow those bastards up.”

Steve smiles, and Tony wonders if this is what it was like charging into battle with the Howling Commandos.

No, it’s not like that at all, because he gets Steve all to himself, and the Captain has trusted  _ him _ with a plan, he who does not play well with others. He who is at least partially responsible for Steve’s injuries. He who designed a lot of these weapons being built here. Tony Stark is going to lead Captain America into battle.

They’re here. Steve turns to face him, the helmet in his hands, and his expression determined. “Keep me posted,” he sets his jaw, and puts the helmet on his head.

“Be careful,” Tony gives a nod and a firm salute. “And don’t scratch my suit.”

“I’ll try not to,” Steve’s legs bunch up as the suit preps to jet him into the air. The thrusters power up, and he shoots straight up through the tree tops. Immediately, the nearest turrets turn on him. Tony wastes a second or two to admire the soldier as he quickly adapts. He leads with his shoulders, and JARVIS helps him spin and weave around shots. They explode around him, but none of them hit. He’ll be fine.

Tony turns to face the turret closest to him. It’s not guarded, all nearby men running off to find weapons, shouting amongst each other with urgency. This’ll be a piece of cake. Tony tucks himself behind the base of the canon and removes the service plate. He gets to work.

“I think I see whatever they’re using to disrupt comms,” Steve’s voice comes through their channel, and Tony finds himself analyzing it; is he okay? Is he figuring out the suit okay? Is it hurting him?  _ Focus. _

“Okay, blast it!” Tony orders. “J, you ready?” thank goodness for computers, and their ability to multi-task. 

“I am on stand-by,” the AI agrees. “Ready to contact SHIELD as soon as I can establish communication.”

“Good,” Tony holds the screw driver between his teeth and yanks out a handful of wires, mapping them with his eyes and rapidly finding the ones he needs. There’s a manual reboot switch, which he toggles, then reaches into the system and safely swaps some leads. Then he pulls the screwdriver from his mouth and runs. The turret reboots, and the second it tries to fire, it overloads. The whole thing goes up in a ball of flame. Nobody suspects anything other than Iron Man having shot it, so they don’t come looking for a second intruder. Tony moves on undetected.

The sound of  repulsor blasts is quickly followed by Steve’s voice over the comms. “Disruptors are destroyed!”

“J, call the suits!” Tony races behind the next turret. This one is completely unguarded as well, far away from Steve and the carnage he’s so perfectly creating. The inventor catches sight of Iron Man spinning in tight pinwheels, dropping and suddenly bursting straight up to avoid shots. Steve  _ is  _ a natural. It makes Tony wonder how the soldier will do when he’s healed.

His suits are coming. Now, SHIELD. JARVIS has already put the call through.

“Tony. I presume you’ve hacked our comms again for good reason.” Fury’s voice, somewhat exasperated but listening.

“Just the man I need to talk to,” Tony grunts as he activates the manual reboot and swaps around the wires before breaking into a sprint. The next turret explodes, and on the other side of the complex, Steve blows up another before he’s forced to take more evasive maneuvers. “We need that extraction.”

“What the hell did the two of you do? Are those  explosions ? This was supposed to be recon-”

“Not our ideal plan either,” Tony dives behind the third and final turret. “But there were... issues. We also need med-evac.”

“Where’s Rogers?” Fury demands.

“Here,” Steve chips in over the headset. “I’ll write you a report when we get back. But for now, we really need you to come in and take this place down. It’s HYDRA.” The system buzzes as more explosions ring out across the battlefield.

“Twenty-five minutes in-bound,” Fury relays, business as usual, though Tony has a feeling they may have words about this later.

His suits will be here in less. They may be a bit farther away, but they can fly faster. Tony destroys the final turret and finds some trees to hide behind. He peers around and draws his gun, watching Steve continue to weave through the barrage of fire coming from the men armed below him. They’re shooting him with their modified weapons, pelting him with bright blue bolts of energy.

“Okay Captain, call it,” Tony scans the area. He could probably get into the facility if Steve kept the fire facing away from the entrance. “How can I help?”

“Stay out of the way. They’ve got too much firepower,” Steve interjects, banking sharply to avoid a flurry of blue blasts. He shoots a handful of shots with the gauntlets, but he’s not able to aim very well given how well these men are keeping him on his toes. None of them hit. “And I used up all your fancy toys. Worked great by the way.”

“Cap’s trigger-happy,” Tony grins, holding his position. He hates not being able to help while the soldier flies around in his suit, but he knows he can’t switch places and leave Steve grounded, and he can’t run into the firefight dressed as he is. He’s not skilled enough, and there are too many men. “Okay, hold your ground. Help’s coming. If I can find a good spot I’ll try to help.”

Maybe if he could get on top of the building somehow, he could provide some cover, start picking guys off from a hidden vantage point. Unfortunately, he’s not a sniper, nor is a hand-gun all that good for long-range precision of that nature. Not in his hands anyway. There’s  _ got _ to be a way to help Steve until the suits and SHIELD come. He’s got half a mind to find a hiding place among the debris scattered around the base, but he’s promised himself to follow Steve’s orders. And the soldier has ordered him to stay safe.

The back door to the facility opens, and he watches as a very large man walks out wheeling along some sort of trolley. On it sits the herald of Iron Man’s beginning: the Jericho. Tony freezes in place, his throat tightening and his whole trembling so badly he nearly drops the gun. He needs to warn Steve, but he can’t. He can only watch as the weapon is dragged to the battlefield and aimed at the sky.

Somewhere inside of him, he finds a shred of self-control, dragged above everything else by his fear for Steve’s safety. He pushes off the chains of panic and fights for breath before it can swallow him. “Steve, watch out! They’re loading the Jericho! Get away!”

Where Steve’s supposed to go, he doesn’t know. Up? Out to sea? Steve opts for both, turning tail and flying toward the clouds and away from the facility as fast as he can.

It’s not  fast enough. With the added alien  substances the missile can fly a lot faster, and with more precision. It’s aimed and discharged, soaring gracefully straight for Steve. “On your six!” Tony yells, though he can already hear JARVIS giving feedback. Steve’s rolling sideways to avoid one of Jericho’s off-shoot missiles, dipping below the arch of the shot then shooting up straight above the parabolic trajectory. Tony lets out a breath.

He breathes too early. Jericho changes paths, all of its off-shoots veering toward the soldier and chasing him into the sky. They’re almost sentient the way they bank and adapt with Steve’s constantly-changing flight path. Tony’s never seen anything like it, and he wishes his friend weren’t in danger so he could appreciate the display. He wishes he didn’t have to think about the damage a weapon like this could do in the wrong hands, and that he’s partially responsible for its existence. He can’t. All he  _ can _ do is think, helpless only to watch as Steve does the best he can (which is damn good) to avoid getting hit.

He’s simply not  fast enough. Missile after missile explodes too close for comfort, finally throwing him off course enough that the final one strikes. It’s not a direct hit, but it’s enough. The suit comes to pieces, and the soldier falls.

“ _ NO! _ " Tony runs. He’s  close enough, he can make it in time! He knows that he can’t catch Steve, and that even if he can, it’ll crush him. But he has to try. Steve’s dropping, flailing his arms for purchase by finding none, crying out over the earpiece.

“Tony!”

“J, the suit!” Tony’s already yelling, pleading that the suit is intact enough to fly to Steve and save him. A fall from that height doesn’t pose good odds, even for a super-soldier. The guards are preparing to fire at the vulnerable, exposed soldier. Tony draws his gun as he runs, and fires. It surprises him that even  one shot lands: he takes down a man, and dozens of eyes suddenly snap to face him. He doesn’t care.

Steve is all he cares about. Steve, who’s hurtling through the sky screaming for help over the sound of air rushing through the comms.

Out of Jericho’s leftovers still clouding the air bursts Iron Man, shining silver in the sunlight, an angel swooping down from heaven just in time. Tony barks out a laugh as he keeps running, watching with giddying relief as his fastest suit intercepts Steve and plucks him from the air.

“I have him!” JARVIS announces over the comms, cradling Steve in his arms and setting down within the cover of trees. The guards are coming for them. There isn’t long.

Tony is there, racing over and falling to his knees beside the Captain as JARVIS sets him on his back in the dirt. “Good catch J,” he laughs, wiping his eyes and reaching out for contact before he can stop himself. He gathers Steve in his arms and hugs him tightly.

Steve’s shaking a little, gasping for breath. He hugs back, patting Tony weakly.

They pull apart, and Tony surveys him, worried he’ll find more terrible injuries added to his friend, but Steve is just a little cut up. His face his bleeding, and he’s grasping his chest tightly, pale but breathing and lucid. His shirt is in-tact, and when Tony frantically runs his hands up the soldier’s chest, he’s relieved to find his ribs don’t give. 

“Nice flying, Maverick,” Tony lets Steve lie flat again, carefully cradling his head on the way down. He can’t fight away a grin, and doesn’t try. Steve’s smiling back.

“That’s a movie I haven’t seen,” Steve coughs and clutches his ribs. “Maybe – ah – that's what we can watch first.”

“We’ll watch that any many more,” Tony promises, squeezing his friend’s shoulder. “We’ll have the time. I wouldn’t let anybody I care about languish in a hospital alone, even if the nurses are hot.” He backs up toward the suit, and it opens for him. The men are close now. There’s no time. He has to get Steve somewhere safer. The armor closes around him, but he keeps the helmet off so Steve can look him in the eyes. He gets to his knee and scoops his arms under the Captain’s body bridal-style.

Steve wraps his arms around Tony’s neck. His legs are still limp and useless, but his grip around the armor is strong. He opens his mouth to say something, but they’re interrupted by a shadow.

“I hope you haven’t blown up everything sight.” Fury, sounding unamused as usual as he announces his presence over the earpiece.

SHIELD is here. Tony smiles up at helicopter hovering off to one side, and the jets streaming past it. Armed agents are dropping out, racing to intercept the HYDRA guards. They’re home free now. Tony turns his smile to Steve before the helmet closes over his head. Then he faces the sky and jets up out of the forest.

The helicopter doors are open, and Tony lands neatly inside, ducking a little so he can walk in. Fury is there in the pilot’s seat, and he turns to peer at them. “You brought the suit, Stark,” he announces flatly. “Against direct orders. And did you break my Captain as well?”

Tony and Steve make eye-contact as the inventor carries him to the stretcher. Steve opens his mouth, frowning at the Director as he’s gently settled in his back. Tony cuts him off. “Mr. America is more than capable of breaking himself,” he retorts. “Nice to see you too, Cyclops. No chance a second date now I guess.”

“Just get out there and help,” Fury sighs. But he does meet Steve’s eyes and give the Captain a nod and an appraising glance that makes Tony want to throttle him.  _ That’s the best you can muster up? _

The inventor turns his back on the Director, looking instead to the EMTs getting ready to diagnose and treat their patient. “Fell on his neck,” Tony taps his. “Can’t feel his legs still, but his arms just came back yesterday.”

They aren’t fazed at all, nodding appreciatively and getting to work.

Tony gives Steve one last pat on the shoulder. “Hang tight, cupcake. See you soon.”

“Tony, thank you,” Steve stops him with a hand on his wrist. “Be careful.”

“I will,” he smiles reassuringly, and hops out the helicopter. His helmet comes back up, and he soars into battle. The rest of the suits have arrived, providing air support as the SHIELD agents swarm the facility and force their way inside. Steve’s safe now. He’ll get taken care of, and this whole thing will soon be in the rear-view mirror.

The fight just isn’t over for him just yet. HYDRA  are loading another Jericho.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve doesn’t like being on the sidelines for any reason, and he doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on. At least he still has his earpiece, through which he can hear Tony breathing, and the occasional exchange with JARVIS. Even over the buzz of helicopter rotors, he can hear the sounds of gunfire below. 

“Let’s get you back to base,” Fury states, and the helicopter dips sideways. 

“Wait,” Steve looks over at the pilot’s seat. He lifts a hand to block the EMT as she tries to dab some blood off his face and strap a brace around his neck. The other is wrapping a blanket around his legs and preparing to strap him in. 

“Captain, there’s nothing you can do. We have it under control,” Fury calmly replies. This is only one of many countless times a person of authority has tried to convince him he can’t help. Unfortunately, it’s not in his nature to stand down. And besides, Tony’s still out there. It doesn’t matter if Steve’s can’t help; it’d still feel wrong to fall back while his men are still fighting. 

Tony’s piping up now, grunting over their personal link. “Dammit. They’ve got another Jericho.” 

It’s a monster of a weapon. There’s no way men on the ground can defend against it. Tony’s a better pilot than Steve, but the soldier still feels a pang of worry at that announcement. They could use more men in the air. The jets just don’t have the maneuverability and speed that Iron Man does. 

A flash of blue darts by the window. Steve pushes himself off the stretcher to get a better look, and he knows _exactly_ what he can do. “JARVIS,” he bats the EMTs away from him and throws off the blanket before they can stop him. 

“Captain,” the AI responds. Why does it feel like even the computer suspects he’s about to do something he shouldn’t? 

“Captain Rogers-” the EMT grabs his arm to pull him back, but he’s so much stronger than her that it doesn’t make a difference. Two normal humans are no match for the top half of Captain America. 

Fury glances around. “Lay your ass down, Rogers, or so help me God-” 

“JARVIS, suit me up,” Steve rolls off the stretcher. It’s not too far off the ground, but the impact on his fractured spine and sore ribs hurts enough that he has to grit his teeth to restrain a whine. 

“Steve! Don’t-” Tony starts. 

“Captain, I must insist-” JARVIS chiming in over top. 

“Rogers-!” Fury tries again. 

“JARVIS! Just do it!” He interrupts them all. Tony told the AI to obey his orders. Steve struggles to pull his shoulders off the floor with arm strength alone. The weight is nothing, but it’s painful as he climbs his damages body up the bench along the side. The EMTs are dashing around to stop him. They’re too late. Steve’s already dragged open the door and it throwing himself into open sky. He more tumbles out than lunges, but he manages to turn so he’s falling face-down, arms spread. 

JARVIS catches him. A suit appears beneath him, opening from the back so he can slot neatly inside. It folds around him, and soars away from the earth. 

This one is blue. It’s faster and sharper and newer than the one he’s just worn, the display buzzing with information as usual. How does Tony follow all of this at once? Even his serum-enhanced brain is struggling to process it all, whatever he can understand. JARVIS is already filtering the display for him though, showing him only what is absolutely necessary. 

The battlefield is a mess. Shots fly everywhere as SHIELD agents and HYDRA guards chase each other around the complex, and more weapons are dragged out into the sun to try and bring down the air support. Steve spots the Jericho just in time to watch it discharge. It’s headed straight for Tony, who’s still clad in his silver suit. It’s already a bit scorched. A handful of other suits zip around, doing their best to protect the men on the ground as well as the SHIELD jets. 

Steve angles his shoulders, and Iron Man does the rest, carving him a perfect pathway to his friend as the Jericho gains. 

“Stealing my stuff, are you Cap?” Tony pants from just up ahead, doing whatever he can to avoid the weapons gaining on him regardless of how fast he can fly. “I could use a hand!” 

JARVIS is already loading whatever weapons this model is stocked with. “Copy that. Fly straight for a sec,” Steve lines himself up and the suit helps keep him steady. It’s strange trying to both account for his legs but also forget about them at the same time. It’s working, though. He’s flying straight, the HUD showing him the tracking system locking on to the enemy projectiles. Iron Man’s own missiles launch, and JARVIS drops both of them out of the sky. Above them, the Jericho explodes, showering them with crystal fragments. 

They pull up together and circle the complex side-by-side. “Just couldn’t bear to be away from me, could ya,” Tony comments. 

Steve scans the carnage below, forgetting his pounding head and strained breaths so he can focus on a plan. “How many suits do you have?” 

“Sans yours and mine, enough to protect the jets,” the engineer does a quick tally. 

“Then do it,” Steve agree. “We’ll do what we can on the ground. I’ll take the back entrance, you guard the front, and we’ll try to keep them from bringing out any more missiles.” 

“Aye aye, Captain,” Tony peels off and flies to his side of the building, while Steve does the same. 

Nothing can beat human instincts, but Steve has to admit there’s something to be said for mechanical assistance. Regardless of the fact that Iron Man is the only thing enabling him to walk, it’s protecting his soft human skin against bullets. Those modified weapons will still do damage if they hit, but even then he’d probably be alright. The suit would take the beating, saving his soft tissues from having to endure that sort of trauma. Captain America can’t be stopped and will always get back up, not matter what befalls him, but it’s nice to have some protection this time. 

He lands the suit on his feet, and though he can’t feel his legs, the impact traverses through the armor and shakes his body. _I’m going to have a long nap when this is over._ Sleep is Captain America’s best (and only) medicine. But the battle is far from over. JARVIS interprets his movements and guides the suit accordingly. He runs with strong steps, and though Iron Man could never contend with his agility, it’s still fast. Steve makes contact with a HYDRA agent loading more rounds into a machine gun, punching him with a metal-wrapped fist. The gun falls, and the man sails into the concrete wall of the complex. It’s terribly satisfying, more than punching HYDRA soldiers has ever been. Steve’s punched a lot of HYDA soldiers. 

Iron Man isn’t built to fire guns by hand, so he picks up the fallen machine gun and hands it to the nearest SHIELD agent. Then he turns and runs toward the next HYDRA uniform in sight. “JARVIS, how many of them are there?” 

“By my estimate, Captain, there are still at least fifty employees inside the warehouse,” the AI relays. “By the data you and Mr. Stark collected I assume many are stock and factory workers. It would appear there are about a hundred and twenty guards on the premises, all with varying levels of training in armed and hand-to-hand combat. Their skills level compared to the SHIELD agents does appear to be similar, if not slightly superior.” 

That’s no surprise. HYDRA had brutal training methods back in the forties, and they surely do now. Steve raises his hands and shoots down the trio of soldiers trying to load up the missile they’ve brought to take down the SHIELD jets. Steve wraps his gauntleted fingers around the shaft and throws it with the combined strength of his serum and the suit. Then he fires a shot and detonates it safely in mid-air. 

Someone shouts. Steve turns as fast as JARVIS can move his legs. Out from the back door of the facility walks a man easily as tall as Steve, and surely broader. He’s lifting a SHIELD agent over his head and throwing him. JARVIS doesn’t need to be told: he helps the Captain fly over as fast as he can. Steve yanks his shoulders up, and the suit brings his hips upward. The heels of his boots smash into the enemy soldier’s chest. Steve lands on his feet with a light thud. 

The suit walks him over a step, firmly planting him between the enemy and the SHIELD agents who have so far been struggling to hold their own against their huge opponent. “Help him,” Steve points at their fallen companion, and the other two rush over to drag their friend to safety. The HYDRA soldier rises to his feet and brushes himself off. 

He’s big, but he’s still just a normal human as far as Steve can tell. He’s squaring off against Iron Man, undaunted and reaching for his gun. Typical HYDRA commitment. 

The HUD scans his face and starts running it through the data JARVIS has collected. “This is one of the strongest soldiers currently stationed here,” the AI relays, sliding one of Steve’s legs back in accordance with his upper-body position. “As far as I can tell by his training regiment and performance, at least.” 

That won’t be an issue. No human, no matter how hard they train, can ever match the strength, speed, and durability of Captain America. Even injured as he is, he’s got Iron Man to make up for it. Steve fires up the repulsors and holds up his hands. It might be harder than usual, but he can take this guy. 

The HYDRA agent is already moving, and both shots miss. His sweeping leg goes straight for Iron Man’s ankle. JARVIS reacts for him, thrusting Steve into the air by his boots. The soldier flies up and over his attacker’s head, in a sort of powered front-flip. With the suit’s help, he turns in the air and lands to face his opponent. Kneeled, Steve raises his hand to fire another shot. The large man manages to anticipate it, diving to the side and thrusting his foot up into Iron Man’s face. The heel strikes his chin, and Steve cries out as his head is smacked backwards. The guard smirks, not a hint of humanity in his eyes. 

Steve’s back burns, and his fingertips are tingling again. JARVIS rights him, and helps him delivery a powerful kick into the guard’s chest. It’s strong enough to crack bone, mathematically aimed and balanced. Steve swallows his nausea and twists at the waist. The AI takes care of the footwork, and spins him around, bringing the other foot up and hooking the heel into the guard’s ear. It makes a loud crack, but it’s not enough to down their opponent. 

“Nice work,” Steve rights his shoulders. 

“My data banks are equipped with plenty of martial arts techniques,” JARVIS replies steadily. “Perhaps I can be an adequate substitute for your skill and instinct.” 

Did a computer just complement him? Steve’s tickled by that, and there’s a possibility it’s because he feels as though Tony himself had given the praise. “You’re doin’ great,” Steve assures. He raises his hands, determined to shoot down this HYDRA agent once and for all. 

His arm is slow to respond, moving in one jerking motion. The shot misses. The guard is spitting out some blood and diving sideways for a fallen weapon. He swings it around, and starts shooting. 

“Hang on, Captain,” JARVIS takes full control, and Steve finds his body moving without his command. His legs jump, and he spins horizontal to the ground before landing again. All the shots miss, and Iron Man lunges forward off a foot. This time Steve finds his arm responsive, and swings it around. His fist clocks the guard in the jaw, snapping his head sideways and felling him instantly. 

Together, Steve and JARVIS right and suit and stand over the body for a moment while the soldier catches his breath. He flexes his hand and winces. “Good work, J, thanks.” 

“Likewise, Captain,” the AI sounds mildly pleased with himself. “Who next?” 

Steve looks around and spots a group of SHIELD agents struggling against one HYDRA soldier with a long-range precision rifle stationed on the roof of the complex. Steve frowns and lifts his hand, firing off a shot. With computer-aided aiming, it hits, and the enemy crumples. A second shot blows up his gun in a bright ball of orange flame glinting iridescent. 

“My data shows the fight is swaying significantly in our favor,” JARVIS explains as Steve makes sure this area is clear, and all his nearby allies are safe. “Perhaps I may return you to the helicopter.” 

“Not until the battle is over,” Steve watches a small group of SHIELD agents swarm the back door, armed with stolen HYDRA weapons and racing in to clear out anyone still hiding. 

“I will send a suit to help them,” JARVIS offers, and one is already soaring down from the sky to join the squad of agents. “I will protect them, Captain." 

Steve won’t be able to rest until this is over. To his relief, JARVIS doesn’t argue as they fly up over the complex for a better vantage point. Indeed, the fight is vastly swung in their favor. Tony’s extra suits are protecting the SHIELD jets, and the SHIELD agents are defeating HYDRA soldiers one by one.. JARVIS is looking after the group in the complex, seeking out enemies with equipped scanners. 

Everything is under control. They’re winning, overpowering this well-armed but poorly-manned base with their larger fleet. 

JARVIS is already guiding the suit. “Shall I take you back to the helicopter, Captain?” 

He doesn’t have to fight anymore. Steve sighs. “Okay. Thanks, JARVIS.” 

“I am merely following Mr. Stark’s direction,” the AI replies, taking control and flying the suit back to the chopper. 

It’s landed on the shore not too far away, but safely removed from the fight. To his surprise, Tony is already there when he lands on the pebbles by the helicopter. His helmet is off, and he’s smiling. The sun’s on his hair, and he looks... handsome. “Bout time cupcake. Finally listening to reason and rhyme, are you?” 

Steve’s helmet folds back too, and he smiles as the suit walks him up to the engineer’s waiting hands. “I was getting addicted, what can I say.” 

“You can fly it as much as you like when your head’s screwed on right,” Tony promises. There’s hopefulness in his eyes, and a slight questioning tone in his statement. 

Yes. Steve has every intention of hanging out more after this. “Seems I’d better get in then.” 

“Yup. Ready soldier?” Tony gets in close and holds his arms ready to catch. Iron Man seamlessly peels away from Steve, and he collapses into the engineer’s waiting grasp. His whole body hurts, but that’s alright. It’s a little embarrassing, but he doesn’t mind it too much as inventor carries him bridal style once again into the helicopter. Fury doesn’t say a word, firing up the rotors. 

Tony steps out of his own suit the second Steve’s safely on the stretcher. It flies off with the other, off to help in any way they can. The inventor grabs hold of a handle as the doors slide shut and they take off, a sly grin on his face. “Well? No more spandex for you then?” 

Steve smiles back, unable to tear his eyes away from his new friend. The EMTs waste no time strapping him in. He lets them tuck a blanket around his lower body and fit a rigid brace around his neck. “I could get used to it,” he agrees as Tony sits next to him and does up his seatbelt. They’re taking off, veering back toward the mainland. “It was pretty amazing. I could teach JARVIS a thing or too though.” 

“He did good, for a robot,” Tony shrugs. “Kept your ass alive.” 

“ _You_ kept my ass alive,” Steve retorts. 

For once there’s no argument. Tony just smiles and pats his blanketed shoulder. “Yeah yeah, I’m amazing, what else is new.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But wait, what about the ship tag!?!?

“Despite the set-backs, the mission was a success,” Fury explains, eying Tony from across the desk. “We’re sending out a STRIKE team to take down the last stragglers, and we’re interrogating the captives for more info on buyers and other bases.” 

Tony leans back in his chair and clasps his hands behind his head. Yes, the base was emptied and destroyed, all of its occupants either killed or taken back for questioning. That certainly counts as a success. Nobody died, either. Steve’s the only one in surgery right now. Fury doesn’t seem to give a damn. “I bet Barton could have done it,” he shrugs. 

“Or Romanoff, or any number of my agents,” Fury agrees calmly. “But I didn’t send them. I sent you.” 

“So the hacking thing was a ploy, then,” Tony accuses. 

“Not entirely,” the director responds. “No-one else could have made quicker, neater work of it. I knew you wouldn’t leave all your toys behind even if I ordered you to, though I didn’t expect you to be brash enough to bring Iron Man.” 

“But you expected Cap to protect me at all costs.” 

Fury doesn’t budge, even under the judgmental stare from the inventor. “Yes, Stark. I did. I knew there was a chance things could go wrong. There always is. If a fight broke out, I needed to know you’d be safe. Nobody could have protected you better than he can.” 

“At the expense of his own safety,” Tony argues. Cuts and scrapes are one thing. 

“Yes,” Fury replies firmly. “Sometimes risk and sacrifice are necessary. In the end, I knew the two of you would get the job done. You wanted another chance at redemption, Stark? I gave you one. You may have been fooling the world, but you can’t fool me.” 

“So you’ve been spying on me.” 

“Trying to take care of you,” the director does give a little now, sighing ever so slightly. “The Avengers may have disbanded, and was never my team in the first place, but I like to think I can still do something to help. You need each other. Besides. It’s not hard to spy on a man always in the limelight.” 

‘Each other’ here isn’t the entire team, not in this context. “You lied to me.” 

“I omitted some details I felt you didn’t need to know,” Fury agrees. “But if I’d told Steve he needs to relax, he wouldn’t have listened. And if I’d told you that spending some time with the Captain would help you find someone to talk to, you’d have refused, too. You’re not alone, Tony. Neither is Steve. The two of you could stand to rub off on each other.” 

Tony doesn’t like feeling manipulated, but he has to admit that an underhanded approach was the only way of making this arrangement work. He sits there in silence, trying to decide how he feels about all this. Fury is right though, he’s glad to have had the company. What irks him the most is that he still feels Fury is flippant about Steve’s safety. 

“Sir, Captain Rogers is out of surgery,” a woman pokes her head through the door. “We’re just moving him to a room.” 

Tony is already on his feet, striding right for the door. He has no more words for the director. Besides, he’s got some promises to keep. The woman glances back into the room as Tony approaches, but she leads the inventor off anyway. Fury follows, and Tony ignores him. “How is he?” Steve’s all that matters. 

“With a few days’ rest he’ll be good as new,” the woman smiles at him over her shoulder. “The surgeons fixed his back without any complications. He might have some trouble walking for a little while, but nothing should be permanent. The serum is already well on its way to healing him.” 

Tony has a feeling this may not be the first time the serum has mended the un-mendable. As he understands it, the Captain is more-or-less immune to anesthetics, too. He wonders how many surgeries Steve’s been awake for. And what about this one? Did he have to suffer much? 

Apparently not as much this time. Tony's not sure if he should be more worried or relieved when the nurse casually explains to Fury that because the serum was working so hard to heal his back and damaged nerves, they were able to sedate him enough that he didn’t feel much of the procedure. _Little victories._

SHIELD medical is just as sterile and cold as any other hospital. Tony hates it, and vows to get Steve out of here as fast as possible. “How long are you keeping him here?” he asks more aggressively than is necessary. 

“Couple of days,” the nurse replies, unfazed and perfectly professional. “Just to keep an eye on how everything is healing.” She glances at Fury. “He shouldn’t go back to work for two weeks at least.” 

“Make it three,” Tony pushes past her the second they reach the room. He doesn’t stop to run it by Nick, or give any reasoning. He just pushes open the door, and shuts it behind him. 

Steve is already awake, blinking drowsily around the room. There’s a relieving lack of equipment attached to him, just a vitals machine really, and an IV pumping as much morphine as is physically possible into his bruised body. He’s wearing a padded plastic collar and a brace on his wrist, and Tony can see the bulk of bandages wrapped around his ribs. The powder blue gown is a snug fit around his wide shoulders, doing nothing to hide how huge the soldier is. 

“It lives,” Tony whispers hauntingly, leaning over and waggling his fingers. 

Steve stares up at him blearily. “Tony.” He gives a loopy grin. 

“Wow, you really are off your tits, aren’t you,” Tony smiles and pulls the chair as close as he can get it. “Nice threads. Though your accessorizing needs some work. Those wrists are too pretty not to be covered in jewelry. You’ve got yourself three weeks off. I think we need to go shopping and get you a Rolex.” 

It takes Steve a few moments to process all of Tony’s relieved and concerned rambling. He peers down at his wrists, noticing the brace and understanding the joke. Tony can physically see the haze melt from his eyes. “Oh.” He smiles. 

“’Oh’? That’s the best you got? Doctor, I think you screwed him up! I want a refund!” Is it cruel to tease Steve when he’s so out of it? Maybe. Is it fun, helping to unwind his tightly-strung nerves? Yes. Very much so. He’s not taking advantage of the situation, not at all. The soldier’s grinning, isn’t he? Sure, he’s doped out of his head, but he’s happy. “This better be on warranty, Rogers.” Tony is grinning himself, reaching over for the can of ginger ale the nurse left. 

“Not on... warranty. Probably run out... by now.” Steve’s eyes stare distantly through the wall across from him. 

Tony shrugs and drops a straw into the can. “Lifetime warranty’s a thing. Besides, anything my dad made, I can fix.” 

“Uh huh,” Steve agrees whole-heartedly. He looks like he’s trying to nod, but he can’t. It takes him a moment to remember why. He accepts the drink when it’s given to him and sucks. 

“I’m breaking you out of here in a couple of days,” Tony promises. “And... you can come home with me. If you like. Better than moping around by yourself for three weeks. I guess. I mean, you might not want the company. Or _my_ company. I won’t mother hen you, I promise. Well, I might just a little bit, because I still feel kinda bad-” 

“S’okay,” when Steve smiles, the collar pushes his cheeks up into his eyes. It’s adorable. “Tony, s’okay.” 

It’s really not. This whole mission has been a complete disaster. If he hadn’t lost control of himself, they’d have gotten out safely. The two of them had been doing so well right up until he’d lost himself and called the suit. And Steve got hurt for it. _Really_ hurt. It doesn’t matter that everything will heal, that nothing is permanent. What matters is that Tony made a mistake, and someone else suffered for it. 

Steve isn’t a hardened, soulless soldier who only cares for order and rules. He’s sweet and friendly and understanding. He wants to make other people happy, even within his own suffering. He’s endlessly selfless, endlessly caring, and more human than anyone Tony has ever met. All of that he knows from just a couple of days spent in some cave. Now it looks more and more that they’ll get to spend some more time together. How much more will he learn about the Captain? There’s more to learn, he knows it. Steve’s already alluded to some of those layers. 

There’s more to learn about Tony, too. Steve’s smart, a lot smarter than the engineer first perceived him to be. He’ll soon figure out that though Tony doesn’t sell weapons anymore, that won’t stop him from being the Merchant of Death. On top of that, he’s a wreck. Steve can’t possibly want to be friends with someone so broken. 

The mission is over, so there’s nothing riding on him if he splits open. Without conscious effort, his walls are crumbling down. And it’s Steve’s soft eyes that drive the chisel into the cracks. The soldier shouldn’t see this. He needs to rest, not worry himself over Tony. So Tony leans forward and shields his eyes with a hand, clenching the other into a fist. “God, Steve... I’m so sorry.” He needs to say it, and Steve needs to let him. 

Steve’s hand gently lands on top of his head. His coordination is shot because of his injuries and all the drugs in his system, but he manages to give Tony’s head a pat. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not.” His chest feels tight again, but not from a panic attack. No, this time it’s tears, and he’s not sure he can hold them in. He tries, though, but it’s getting harder as Steve starts to rub his head. 

“It is.” Steve insists. 

Tony folds his arms on the mattress and drops his face into it. He needs to stop feeling so sorry for himself. But the more he tries to bottle it down and fight the urge to cry, the more Steve’s stroking hand on his shoulder blasts apart his strength. The soldier jerks his hand across Tony’s back, whatever he can reach. He can’t take it anymore. The dam has to break, or he’ll surely explode. 

“S’okay, Tony,” Steve pats his shaking shoulders. 

They spend a few minutes in silence, Steve keeping his hand rested on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony crying quietly into his arm until he’s sure he’s done. He gives himself a bit of time for his eyes to dry before sitting up. There, that’s better. _Much_ better. Steve’s smiling at him with approval, but says nothing else on the subject. 

\-- 

It’s amazing what a few days can do. Steve’s moving his legs by himself after two days of rest, while Tony helps him turn his upper body. His feet dangle off the edge of bed, and the nurse tests his reflexes. They’re a little weak and slow, but they’re not far from healthy. She brings him some slippers and slides them onto his feet. 

Both of them help the soldier off the bed and onto his feet. He’s wincing, but his legs are holding him. He takes a couple of shaky steps, quickly settling into the rhythm after that. The nurse leaves them to it. 

They set off down the hall, Steve happy to lean a little into Tony’s support. His gait smooths out with every step. At this rate, he’ll be standing tall and straight in another couple of days. 

“I never thought anybody could make a gown look good, but you pull it off,” Tony shakes his head. He must say he’s a little disappointed that it doesn’t hang open at the back, though it does look a bit like a minidress given how high up it rides on the soldier’s thighs. It doesn’t do much justice to his tapering hips though. _Pair of jeans will fix that._ Soon they’ll be free, and Steve can walk around in the tightest shirts Tony can find him. _My house, my rules._

Sometimes his own thoughts surprise him. He’s not sure where they’re coming from. 

“You really sure about coming over?” Steve asks quietly. “I mean... we don’t know each other that well.” 

“Only one way to fix that,” Tony shrugs. “Course I’m sure. Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you and make sure you do as you’re told.” 

“I’ll have to get my stuff from the apartment.” 

“I have people for that,” Tony waves a hand. “Just give me your address. We can stop by on the way out, if you want.” 

“Okay,” Steve agrees. “Thanks.” 

They walk all the way to the end of the hallway, and by that time Steve’s stable enough to limp along without any support. Tony still stays close, their shoulders pressed together as they make their way all the way back to the room. Steve’s a bit pale and sweaty, but he looks too happy to care. 

“Good to be back on your feet, huh,” Tony smiles proudly. He’s glad this process won’t be any longer or more complicated. The serum has done its job perfectly. “You want a hand getting dressed?” 

“Maybe...” Steve winces. He’s still too sore to bend down and touch his toes, or twist all that much. 

“Okay, sit up,” Tony lowers the bed and pats the mattress, picking up the bag of clothes SHIELD left for the soldier. It’s a pair of sweats with the SHIELD eagle on them, a plain white shirt, a grey hoodie, and some sandals. Good god. “This isn’t what you normally wear, is it?” 

Steve shrugs. “What’s wrong with it?” 

“Better than those ridiculous pleated pants you showed up to the helicarrier wearing two years ago,” Tony crinkles his face. “You don’t still wear those, do you?” 

Steve scowls at him, but it has no real scorn in it. “No. I don’t. Natasha made me get rid of them.” 

“I hope she burned them,” Tony’s all swagger and confidence until Steve’s pulling on the strings of his gown and letting it fall away from his body. Suddenly he’s sitting there basically naked, save for his underwear, the collar round his neck, and the bandages on his chest. There’s a lot of Steve to behold, all of him covered in beautiful milky skin. Tony catches himself staring and quickly pulls the shirt over Steve’s head. By the time the soldier’s face is poking through, the engineer is down on one knee feeding the pants onto his legs. It’s enough time to get himself under control. 

Steve puts on the hoodie while Tony puts on his sandals. The engineer picks up the back of belongings, the nurse signs the soldier out, and they make their way down to the lobby. 

Happy is waiting for them in the car, and watches as they both slide into the back seat. “Captain,” he greets. “Where to?” 

“We have some things to pick up first,” Tony nods. 

\-- 

Steve’s apartment is strikingly empty. There are a few pictures put up, but the whole place is sickeningly organized. It looks more like a museum than an actually place someone lives in. 

Happy helps Steve fold some clothes and personal belongings into a suitcase. It doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes to collect everything. Tony stands by the bookshelf in the living room and picks up the photo there. It’s black and white, and a little yellowed within the frame. It’s of Steve, and a group of people he knows are the Howling Commandos. Howard told him about them, but mostly about Captain America. 

There he is, with his floppy hair and his boyish smile. Physically, he hasn’t aged a day, but his eyes tell the story of decades’ worth of suffering. He’s lost everything so suddenly, and is struggling to fill in the gaps left over. Tony sets down the picture. It makes a lot more sense now why Steve has been so brisk with him in the past. And Tony’s probably not been too sensitive either. 

“I have everything.” Steve’s suddenly there, waiting by the door, stuffing his toothbrush into the suitcase. Tony whirls around and joins them. 

The soldier tries to take the case from Happy, insisting the weight is nothing for him, but the man won’t have it and insists on lugging it down himself. There isn’t much in it, at least, but Tony knows Steve could have tucked it under his arm like a purse. With his back still healing though, the inventor is on Happy’s side. 

The drive up to the house is shorter than it usually feels. Steve’s staring out the window, watching the world go by. They get further and further from the city, finally pulling onto open road. The view is pretty good, and it’ll only get better. Tony smiles and watches his friend admire the seaside view with a warm heart. The soldier’s hand is sitting right there on the seat beside him, within reach, almost asking to be touched. 

He doesn’t. “You ever been up here?” 

“Nope,” Steve’s ears dust fuscia, and the color reaches down his neck underneath the collar. Tony wonders how far down it goes. 

“Makes the trip worth it. Loads more roads up here like this. I could show you around. Take the convertible, get the wind in your hair, sun on your face. It’s nice.” 

“Okay,” Steve smiles at him. Happy watches from the rearview mirror. 

They’re at the house, finally. Tony leads Steve through the lobby, Happy following at a polite distance with the suitcase. They go up to the spare room. The bed’s been made. Steve looks around, pushing on the mattress with his hand. He takes off his sandals and pads around the hardwood floor while Tony watches him from the doorframe. 

“Is this all mine?” the soldier pokes his head into the en-suite. 

“Sure thing cupcake,” Tony grins. “There’s a pool up on the deck, and if you need anything you can always ask JARVIS.” 

“Welcome home sir,” the AI chimes in. “Captain.” 

Tony’s brought plenty of girls home. He’s never wanted to indulge any of them as much as he wants to indulge Steve, spoil him so much he can never go back to less. He can’t even imagine a day when Steve will leave, even though he knows the soldier might pack up at the end of the three weeks when he’s allowed back to work. Maybe he’ll leave sooner. Tony tries not to think about that as he watches Steve run his hands along the soft sheets. 

“I’ll uh, leave you to it?” he offers. “JARVIS can order dinner. Whatever you want. I’ll be, um, down in my workshop. If you want me.” 

Steve smiles. “Thanks Tony. I’m gonna have a shower, I think.” 

“Okay, be careful.” _You’re_ _gonna_ _love the jets, big guy. They’ll massage the tension right out of you. Twenty minutes in there will make you a new man._ "Let me know if you need help.” 

Steve agrees gratefully, and Tony takes his leave. 

It feels like forever since he’s been down in his workshop. Tony walks down the stairs on jelly legs, feeling strangely giddy. It’s been ages since he’s had a house guest, but it’s never made him feel quite as victorious as this. It feels... satisfying. 

The tools for the project Fury called him away from are still laid out on the work bench. Tony sits down and looks over at the extra-strength garbage bag full of the suit he originally brought with him to the island. He looks back at the array of supplies in front of him, then back at the cases of extra suits all around him. JARVIS has cleaned and repaired them as well as he can in the inventor’s absence. He spots the blue and silvers ones next to each other. 

Perhaps it’s time to start fresh. Tony leave the garbage bag and pulls up his holographic interface. Without hesitation, he scraps his designs for the automatic assembly and starts fresh. 

Two hours pass in a wink. He’s spinning a new gauntlet model in the air when he hears the doors open. Steve’s there, dressed in jeans and socks instead of his sweats. His hair is still damp from a shower, sticking up at odd angles. He’s leaning on the railing, his body still too stiff to move with its usual fluidity. He’s got a paper bag in his free hand. 

“Hey,” Tony gets up to help him, guiding him over to the couch. His heart is hammering in his chest. 

“Hey,” Steve smiles, leaning back with a wince and wrapping a hand around his ribs. He holds up the paper bag, and Tony takes it from him. “Dinner. JARVIS said you liked burgers.” 

He does. Tony sits down beside the soldier and pulls out the food. “All settled?” 

“Yup,” Steve agreed, taking what’s handed to him. “Took me a while to find my way around. Kinda got distracted by the view.” 

“Get distracted as much as you want,” Tony shrugs. “You don’t have to hang down here if you don’t want to.” 

Steve unwraps his burger. His hands are still a bit shaky, and sometimes his body stalls and jerks. It does that now, fingers clumsily pushing at the paper. “Wanted to come hang out with you. If that’s okay... unless you’re busy. I won’t get in the way, I promise.” 

“Nonsense,” Tony grins. Who could say no to those sad puppy eyes? “I’d like the company. Here, I‘ll show you what I’m making.” He can’t hold himself together all of a sudden, brimming with the crackling desire to show Steve all his projects. The awe and interest in the soldier’s eyes is intoxicating, and it makes him feel... magnificent. If there’s another word for it, his genius brain can’t find it. 

Steve smiles. The collar rounds out his jaw, and he looks even more like that soft young man from the photo in the apartment. 

They eat and talk. Tony shows him the holographic designs, explains the process of building something from scratch, lays out his ideas, and shows off just what he’s capable of. He’s never felt so out of control as he does now, watching 3D models drawn in blue reflecting in Steve’s big eyes full of insatiable wonder. Tony gets it all to himself, gets to impress Steve while simultaneously basking in the Captain’s enamored gaze. Even flying above everything in Iron Man, he could never feel as high as he does now. He’s on top of the world. 

“How does that work?” Steve points to the glowing circle in the middle of his shirt. 

“The arc reactor?” Tony taps it. He has half a mind to take off his shirt so the soldier can get a better look. “Here, I’ll show you.” He pulls up the designs on the hologram and sits backward in his chair, pointing into the picture protected in the air between them. “This is the old model. See? That’s palladium...” 

He tells Steve about how he invented an element. He explains the design of the reactor, how it all works to make its own power. And Steve stares at the hologram like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Is it warm?” he asks. 

It is a power-making device, and nothing is ever one-hundred percent efficient. The arc reactor comes pretty close, closer than any other power source on the planet, but there is still some energy lost to heat. Tony brushes the hologram aside and comes closer. His arms have a better handle on the mood than he does, because they don’t hesitate to pull off his shirt. He takes Steve’s hand in his and sets it to the glowing circle in the middle of his chest. 

Steve’s got such long fingers. _Surprisingly_ long. Artist’s fingers. He glances up to Tony to make sure this is really okay, before running his index along the edge. The reactor _is_ a little warm, soaking into the metal casing, and into his chest. “Does it hurt?” Steve asks quietly. 

“It always aches in the background,” Tony shrugs. “It’s not so bad. You get used to it.” 

Steve draws his hand back. They're very close. Tony has to speak before it’s too late, before the words choke him. He’s never felt like this before, what Steve’s stirring up inside of him. He’s... _liked_ plenty of people. But never like this. There’s no time to think about the details, about what Steve and his old-timey morals might think about this. There’s no time to think about what this might do for their friendship, or how awkward it might be if this doesn’t work and they still end up living together for these three weeks, or if Steve leaves. 

There’s no time. Time has nearly been taken from Tony before, and he has to do this while he can. First things first though. “Steve... thank you. For saving me.” That’s what he should have been saying all along. 

Steve smiles. “You’re welcome. Thanks for letting me borrow your suit, and for letting me stay here. Been kinda lonely. It’ll be nice to have the company. You don’t owe me anything though, Tony. You’ve been really generous-” 

“I didn’t do it for that,” Tony retorts. “I didn’t do it to pay you back. I...” His mouth is very dry. In the corner, JARVIS turns on his record player and drops the needle. Quiet music fills the shop, and the lights dim. _That bastard..._ He has to say it now. Queen’s ‘Somebody to Love’ is playing in the background. Steve’s listening patiently, watching expectantly. That blush has crept back up through the triangle of chest visible between his shirt and brace, crawling all the way up to his face. There’s confusion in his expression, but he doesn’t pull away. 

Oh, god. 

“I... kinda have a crush on you. I think.” He’s never felt more like a teenager. 

He waits in terror for Captain America to respond. But the soldier doesn’t spit in disgust or walk away. He blushes deeper, and doesn’t say a word. 

Tony comes closer, gets down on one knee and moves with some of his classic confidence. Steve’s licking his lips, struggling to know how to respond. He’s leaning forward though, as if some kind of instinct is driving him, too. Tony closes the gap, opening his mouth and pushing it against Steve’s willing lips. It feels just as safe and warm as when the Captain drew him into a hug in that supply closet. Steve’s arm comes up and pulls him closer, affirming that this is okay and encouraging him to give more. Tony does. He’s a good kisser, and Steve definitely isn’t, but that’s alright. Steve just lets him do whatever he wants to, willing and easy-going. He doesn’t resist. 

They end up sprawled on the couch. Tony helps Steve lie flatter, pushing the throw pillows under him and leaning over his face. Finally, he finds his voice, but he can’t think of anything meaningful to say. “Wow, you are one terrible kisser, Rogers.” 

“Can’t help it,” Steve taps his collar. “This thing’s in the way.” He can’t quite open his mouth all the way, or tip his head to go with the flow, that’s for sure. 

“Pff, excuses,” Tony smirks. “I expect an improvement of at least fifty percent when you get that off.” 

“Am I really that bad?” Steve winces. 

“Aw, you’re not _that_ terrible,” Tony chuckles. “But you could use some practice.” He leans his elbows on the sofa cushions and rests against it. 

“Been a while,” Steve admits bashfully, wiping his mouth on his hand. 

“And this is... okay?” 

“Yeah, it really is,” the soldier smiles. “ _Really_ okay.” 

So Fury is a matchmaker. Tony grins. “Then I guess you’re staying.” 

“Long as you’ll have me.” 

“Long as you like,” Tony stands up. “Hang tight, cupcake. Be right back.” The world feels brighter and warmer. Maybe tonight he can ignore his projects and actually get a healthy amount of sleep. 

He fetches a blanket and some more pillows, jogging all the way. Steve lets himself be manipulated, and Tony carefully props up his huge body until he’s comfortable. He drapes a blanket over the soldier’s torso. Everything feels sudden and easy. All his fears are gone, just like that. “I guess that means I get to do this, then,” he leans over and kisses his new house-mate's forehead. 

“Means I can do this, then,” Steve grabs the inventor by the arm and pulls him down, kissing his lips. 

“You’re a ham, Cap,” Tony wishes he could stay up all night like this, but Steve looks exhausted. His eyes are content but heavy-lidded. 

They stay up for a little longer. DUM-E manages to put the coffee on without burning the house down, and Tony positions himself so that he can massage Steve’s legs. They’re still tingling a little, according to the soldier. Tony happily rubs new life into them, digging his fingers into the muscles as he admires them. There’s a lot of Steve to love. They talk about mundane things and sip coffee. Steve laughs, his eyes bright. Tony asks him about what he does in his spare time, about the sights he explores, and the food he eats. It feels natural, like he’s known this man all his life. 

Finally, Steve falls asleep. Tony tucks him in and gives him one last kiss before curling up on the floor beside the couch. He leans his head on the cushions, and falls right to sleep, happier than he’s been in a long time. It feels like a win after a streak of losses, climbing victorious out of a ring he could never escape. He’s bruised and bloody, but alive and climbing back up toward the light. Steve will help him. And he’ll help Steve. He’ll make sure the soldier has a place here in this world, and that he’s never alone. It’ll be tough, he knows it: their personalities are different enough that they’ll clash again for sure. But that’s alright. They can work through their differences, as they’ve already proven. Tony will do everything he can to make this work, because it’s what he wants more than anything else in his life. 

He wants Steve, and Steve wants him back. This feels like a turning point second only to the birth of Iron Man. It feels good. 

\-- 

Both men are asleep. JARVIS works as quietly as he can, taking control of the silver suit in the case. He walks the metal body over to the sofa while DUM-E grabs a corner of the blanket across Steve in his claw. The robot draws it back, and Iron Man gets to one knee. He scoops Mr. Stark’s slumbering body off the floor and deposits him across Steve’s broad chest. 

JARVIS carefully arranges Mr. Stark into a more comfortable position. DUM-E drops the blanket back over both men, and Iron Man tucks them in. Then he walks the suit back to where it belongs, and powers it off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well my friends, thank you for enjoying this little adventure with me! I have many other projects on the go, but I am always open for feedback and suggestions! If you've got ideas and things you want to see, I always keep a list.
> 
> Let me know what you thought! I appreciate any and all feedback, and I try to keep what's said in mind when writing my next works! Thank you very much for your feedback throughout! I appreciate it, truly <3 your enjoyment gives me life.
> 
> See you next time!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [It's okay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25662073) by [ImportedfromMunich2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImportedfromMunich2/pseuds/ImportedfromMunich2)




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